MISTRESS 

ANNE 


TEMPLE  BALI 


. 


—         J    '  / 


Cx^t—  i  —  -«—  <_ 


1 

•r. 


s><V. 


SHE    SHOWED    HIM    HER    SCHOOL 


MISTRESS   ANNE 


BY 


Temple    Bailey 

Author  of 
"Glory  of  Youth"        "Contrary  Mary" 


ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

F.  VAUX  WILSON 


THE     PENN     PUBLISHING 

COMPANY  PHILADELPHIA 

1917 


COPYRIGHT 
1917  BY 

THE  PBNN 
PUBLISHING 
COMPANY 


First  printing,  April,  1917 
Second  printing,  May,  1917 
Third  printing,  June,  1917 


Mistress  Anne 


To 
P.    V.    B. 

who  sees  the  sunsets 


Contents 

I.    IN  WHICH  THINGS  ARE  SAID  OF  DIOGENES 

AND  OF  A  LADY  WITH  A  LANTERN        .       1 1 

II.  IN  WHICH  A  PRINCESS  SERVING  FINDS 
THAT  THE  MOTTO  OF  KINGS  Is  MEAN- 
INGLESS ......  21 

III.  IN  WHICH  THE  CROWN  PRINCE  ENTERS 

UPON  His  OWN 36 

IV.  IN  WHICH  THREE  KINGS  COME  TO  CROSS- 

ROADS  51 

V.  IN  WHICH  PEGGY  TAKES  THE  CENTER  OF 

THE  STAGE 62 

VI.  IN    WHICH    A  GRAY    PLUSH  PUSSY  CAT 

SUPPLIES  A  THEME       ....       77 

VII.     IN  WHICH  GEOFFREY  WRITES  OF  SOLDIERS 

AND  THEIR  SOULS         .         .         .  91 

VIII.     IN    WHICH     A    GREEN-£YED    MONSTER 

GRIPS  EVE  .         .         .         .         .         .111 

IX.     IN  WHICH  ANNE,  PASSING  A  SHOP,  TURNS 

IN 136 

X.  IN  WHICH  A  BLIND  BEGGAR  AND  A  BUT- 
TERFLY Go  TO  A  BALL  .  .  149 

XI.     IN  WHICH  BRINSLEY  SPEAKS  OF  THE  WAY 

TO  WIN  A  WOMAN       ....     160 

XII.     IN    WHICH    EVE    USURPS    AN    ANCIENT 

MASCULINE  PRIVILEGE  .         .         .         .178 

7 


CONTENTS 

XIII.  IN  WHICH  GEOFFREY  PLAYS  CAVE  MAN  .     196 

XIV.  IN  WHICH  THERE  Is  MUCH  SAID  OF  MAR- 

RIAGE AND  OF  GIVING  IN  MARRIAGE      .     210 

XV.  IN  WHICH  ANNE  ASKS  AND  JIMMIE  AN- 
SWERS   226 

XVI.     IN  WHICH  PAN  PIPES  TO  THE  STARS         .     239 
XVII.     IN  WHICH  FEAR  WALKS  IN  A  STORM        .     256 

XVIII.     IN  WHICH  WE  HEAR  ONCE  MORE  OF  A 

SANDALWOOD  FAN         ....     274 

XIX.     IN  WHICH  CHRISTMAS  COMES  TO  CROSS- 
ROADS         ......     284 

XX.  IN  WHICH  A  DRESDEN-CHINA  SHEP- 
HERDESS AND  A  COUNTRY  MOUSE  MEET 
ON  COMMON  GROUND  ....  298 

XXI.     IN  WHICH  ST.  MICHAEL  HEARS  A  CALL  .     314 

XXII.     IN  WHICH  ANNE  WEIGHS  THE  PEOPLE  OF 

Two  WORLDS      .....     333 

XXIII.  IN  WHICH  RICHARD  RIDES  ALONE   .         .     347 

XXIV.  IN  WHICH  ST.  MICHAEL  FINDS  LOVE  IN  A 

GARDEN 361 


8 


Illustrations 


PAGE 


SHE  SHOWED  HIM  HER  SCHOOL  .  .  .  Frontispiece 
"  You  COULDN'T  THROW  THEM  FAR  ENOUGH  "  .  16 
"  I  SHALL  STAY — WITH  You".  .  .  .  219 

HER  RED  HAIR  CAUGHT  THE  SUNLIGHT         „        .321 


Mistress  Anne 


Mistress  Anne 


CHAPTER  I 

In    Which   Things  Are  Said  of  Diogenes  and  of  a 
Lady  With  a  Lantern. 

THE  second  day  of  the  New  Year  came  on  Satur- 
day. The  holiday  atmosphere  had  thus  been 
extended  over  the  week-end.  The  Christmas  wreaths 
still  hung  in  the  windows,  and  there  had  been  an 
added  day  of  feasting.  Holidays  always  brought 
people  from  town  who  ate  with  sharp  appetites. 

It  was  mostly  men  who  came,  men  who  fished  and 
men  who  hunted.  In  the  long  low  house  by  the 
river  one  found  good  meals  and  good  beds,  warm 
fires  in  winter  and  a  wide  porch  in  summer.  There 
were  few  luxuries,  but  it  pleased  certain  wise  Old 
Gentlemen  to  take  their  sport  simply,  and  to  take 
pride  in  the  simplicity.  They  considered  the  magnifi- 
cence of  modern  camps  and  clubs  vulgar,  and  as 
savoring  somewhat  of  riches  newly  acquired;  and 
they  experienced  an  almost  aesthetic  satisfaction  in 
the  contrast  between  the  rough  cleanliness  of  certain 
little  lodges  along  the  Chesapeake  and  its  tributary 

ii 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

tide-water  streams,  and  the  elegance  of  the  Charles 
Street  mansions  which  they  had,  for  the  moment,  left 
behind. 

It  was  these  Old  Gentlemen  who,  in  khaki  and 
tweed,  each  in  its  proper  season,  came  to  Peter 
Bower's,  and  ate  the  food  which  Peter's  wife  cooked 
for  them.  They  went  out  in  the  morning  fresh  and 
radiant,  and  returned  at  night,  tired  but  still  radiant, 
to  sit  by  the  fire  or  on  the  porch,  and,  in  jovial 
content,  to  tell  of  the  delights  of  earlier  days  and  of 
what  sport  had  been  before  the  invasion  of  the 
Philistines. 

They  knew  much  of  gastronomic  lore,  these  Old 
Gentlemen,  and  they  liked  to  talk  of  things  to  eat. 
But  they  spoke  of  other  things,  and  now  and  then 
they  fell  into  soft  silences  when  a  sunset  was  upon 
them  or  a  night  of  stars. 

And  they  could  tell  stories  1  Stories  backed  by 
sparkling  wit  and  a  nice  sense  of  discrimination. 
On  winter  nights  or  on  holiday  afternoons  like  this, 
as,  gathered  around  the  fire  they  grew  mildly  con- 
vivial, the  sound  of  their  laughter  would  rise  to  Anne 
Warfield's  room  under  the  eaves ;  she  would  push 
back  the  papers  which  held  her  to  her  desk,  and 
wish  with  a  sigh  that  the  laughter  were  that  of  young 
men,  and  that  she  might  be  among  them. 

To-day,  however,  she  was  not  at  her  desk.  She 
was  taking  down  the  decorations  which  had  made 
the  little  room  bright  during  the  brief  holiday.  To- 

12 


A  LADY  WITH  A  LANTERN 

morrow  she  would  go  back  to  school  and  to  the 
forty  children  whom  she  taught.  Life  would  again 
stretch  out  before  her,  dull  and  uneventful.  The 
New  Year  would  hold  for  her  no  meaning  that  the 
old  year  had  not  held. 

It  had  snowed  all  of  the  night  before,  and  from 
her  window  she  could  see  the  river,  slate-gray  against 
the  whiteness.  Out-of-doors  it  was  very  cold,  but 
her  own  room  was  hot  with  the  heat  of  the  little 
round  stove.  With  her  holly  wreaths  in  her  arms, 
she  stood  uncertain  in  front  of  it.  She  had  thought 
to  burn  the  holly,  but  it  had  seemed  to  her,  all  at 
once,  that  to  end  thus  the  vividness  of  berry  and  of 
leaf  would  be  desecration.  Surely  they  deserved  to 
die  out  in  that  clear  cold  world  in  which  they  had 
been  born  and  bred  I 

It  was  a  fanciful  thought,  but  she  yielded  to  it. 
Besides,  there  was  Diogenes !  She  must  make  sure 
of  his  warmth  and  comfort  before  night  closed  in. 

She  put  on  her  red  scarf  and  cap  and,  with  the 
wreaths  in  her  arms,  she  went  down-stairs.  The  Old 
Gentlemen  were  in  the  front  room  and  she  had  to 
pass  through.  They  rose  to  a  man.  She  liked  the 
courtliness,  and  gave  in  return  her  lovely  smile  and 
a  little  bow. 

They  gazed  after  her  with  frank  admiration. 
"Who  is  she?"  asked  one  who  was  not  old,  and 
who,  slim  and  dark  and  with  a  black  ribbon  for  his 
eye-glasses,  seemed  a  stranger  in  this  circle. 

13 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

41  The  new  teacher  of  the  Crossroads  school. 
There  wasn't  any  place  for  her  to  board  but  this. 
So  they  took  her  in." 

"  Pretty  girl." 

The  Old  Gentlemen  agreed,  but  they  did  not  dis- 
cuss her  charms  at  length.  They  belonged  to  a 
generation  which  preferred  not  to  speak  in  a  crowd 
of  a  woman's  attractions.  One  of  them  remarked, 
however,  that  he  envied  her  the  good  fortune  of 
feasting  all  the  year  round  at  Peter  Bower's  table. 

Anne,  trudging  through  the  snow  with  the  wreaths 
in  her  arms,  would  have  laughed  mockingly  if  she 
had  heard  them.  It  was  not  food  that  she  wanted, 
not  the  game  and  oysters  and  fish  over  which  these 
old  gourmands  gloated.  What  she  wanted  was  the 
nectar  and  ambrosia  of  life,  the  color  and  glow — the 
companionship  of  young  things  like  herself  I 

Of  course  there  were  the  school  children  and  there 
was  Peggy.  But  to  the  children  and  Peggy  she  was 
a  grown-up  creature.  Loving  her,  they  still  made 
her  feel  age's  immeasurable  distance,  as  she  had  felt 
her  own  distance  from  the  Old  Gentlemen. 

It  was  Peggy,  who,  wound  in  her  mother's  knitted 
white  shawl  until  she  looked  like  a  dingy  snowball, 
bounced  from  the  kitchen  to  meet  her. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  she  asked. 

The  young  teacher  laughed.  "  Peggy,"  she  said, 
"  if  you  will  never  tell,  you  may  come  with  me." 

"  Where  ?  "  demanded  Peggy. 

'4 


A  LADT  WITH  A  LANTERN 

"  Across  the  road  and  into  the  woods  and  down  to 
the  river." 

"  What  are  you  carrying  the  wreaths  for?  " 

"  Wait  and  see." 

The  road  which  they  crossed  was  the  railroad. 
Over  the  iron  rails  the  trains  thundered  from  one 
big  city  to  another,  with  a  river  to  cross  just  before 
they  reached  Peter  Bower's.  Very  few  of  the  trains 
stopped  at  Peter's,  and  it  was  this  neglect  of  theirs, 
and  the  consequent  isolation,  which  constituted  the 
charm  of  Bower's  for  town-tired  folk.  Yet  Anne 
Warfield  always  wished  that  some  palatial  express 
might  tarry  for  a  moment  to  take  her  aboard,  and 
whirl  her  on  to  the  world  of  flashing  lights,  of  sky- 
scraping  towers  and  streaming  crowds. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  the  wreaths  ? " 
Peggy  was  still  demanding  as  they  entered  upon 
the  frozen  silence  of  the  pine  woods. 

"  I  am  going  down  as  close  as  I  can  to  the  water's 
edge,  and  I  am  going  to  fling  them  out  as  far  as  I 
can  into  the  river.  And  perhaps  the  river  will  carry 
them  down  to  the  sea,  and  the  sea  will  say, '  Whence 
came  you  ? '  and  the  wreaths  will  whisper, '  We  came 
from  the  forest  to  die  on  your  breast,  the  river 
brought  us,  and  the  winds  sang  to  us,  and  above  us 
the  sky  smiled.  And  now  we  are  ready  to  die,  for 
we  have  seen  life  and  its  loveliness.  It  would  have 
been  dreadful  if  we  had  come  to  our  end  in  the  ashes 
of  a  little  round  stove.'  " 

15 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

Peggy  stared,  open-eyed.  She  had  missed  the 
application,  but  she  liked  the  story. 

"  Let  me  throw  one  of  them,"  she  said. 

"  You  couldn't  throw  them  far  enough,  dear  heart. 
But  you  shall  count,  '  one,  two,  three  '  for  me.  And 
when  you  say  '  three '  I'll  throw  one  of  them  away, 
and  then  you  must  count  again,  and  I  will  throw  the 
others." 

So  Peggy,  quite  entranced  by  the  importance  of 
her  office,  took  her  part  in  the  ceremony,  and  Anne 
Warfield  stood  on  top  of  the  snowy  bank  above  the 
river,  and  cast  upon  its  tumbling  surface  the  bright 
burden  which  it  was  to  carry  to  the  sea. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  there  crossed  the  bridge 
the  only  train  from  the  north  which  stopped  by  day 
at  Peter  Bower's.  The  passengers  looking  out  saw, 
far  below  them,  sullen  stream,  somber  woods,  and  a 
girl  in  a  gay  red  scarf.  They  saw,  too,  a  dingy 
white  dot  of  a  child  who  danced  up  and  down. 
When  the  train  stopped  a  few  minutes  later  at 
Bower's,  six  of  the  passengers  stepped  from  it,  three 
men  and  three  women,  a  smartly-dressed,  cosmo- 
politan group,  quite  evidently  indifferent  to  the 
glances  which  followed  them. 

Anne  and  Peggy  had  no  eyes  for  the  new  arrivals. 
If  they  noticed  the  train  at  all,  it  was  merely  to  give 
it  a  slurring  thought,  as  bringing  more  Old  Gentle- 
men who  would  eat  and  be  merry,  then  hurry  back 
again  to  town.  As  for  themselves,  having  finished 

16 


"you  COULDN'T  THROW  THEM  FAR  ENOUGH : 


A  LADY  WITH  A  LANTERN 

the  business  of  the  moment,  they  had  yet  to  look 
after  Diogenes. 

Diogenes  was  a  drake.  He  lived  a  somewhat 
cloistered  life  in  the  stable  which  had  been  made 
over  into  a  garage.  He  had  wandered  in  one  morn- 
ing soon  after  Anne  had  come  to  teach  in  the  school. 
Peter  had  suggested  that  he  be  killed  and  eaten. 
But  Anne,  lonely  in  her  new  quarters,  had  appreciated 
the  forlornness  of  the  old  drake  and  had  adopted  him. 
She  had  named  him  Diogenes  because  he  had  an  air 
of  searching  always  for  something  which  could  not 
be  fouqd.  Once  when  a  flock  of  wild  ducks  had 
flown  oyerhead,  Diogenes  had  listened,  and,  as  their 
faint  cries  had  come  down  to  him,  he  had  stretched 
his  wings  as  if  he,  too,  would  fly.  But  his  fat  body 
had  held  him,  and  so  still  chained  to  earth,  he 
waddled  within  the  limits  of  his  narrow  domain. 

In  a  cozy  corner  of  the  garage  there  was  plenty 
of  straw  and  a  blanket  to  keep  off  draughts.  Mrs. 
Bower  had  declared  such  luxury  unsettling.  But 
Anne  had  laughed  at  her.  "  Why  should  pleasant 
things  hurt  us  ? "  she  had  asked,  and  Mrs.  Bower 
had  shaken  her  head. 

"  If  you  had  seen  the  old  men  who  come  here  and 
stuff,  and  die  because  their  livers  are  wrong,  you'd 
know  what  I  mean.  Give  him  enough,  but  don't 
pamper  him." 

In  the  face  of  this  warning,  however,  Anne  fed  the 
old  drake  on  tidbits,  and  visited  him  at  least  once  a 

17 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

day.  He  returned  her  favors  by  waiting  for  her  at 
the  gate  when  it  was  not  too  cold  and,  preceding 
her  to  the  house,  gave  a  sort  of  major-domo  effect 
to  her  progress. 

Entering  the  stable,  they  found  a  lantern  lighting 
the  gloom,  and  Diogenes  in  a  state  of  agitation. 
His  solitude  had  been  invaded  by  an  Irish  setter — a 
lovely  auburn-coated  creature  with  melting  eyes,  who, 
held  by  a  leash,  lay  at  length  on  Diogenes'  straw, 
with  Diogenes'  blanket  keeping  off  the  cold. 

The  old  drake  from  some  remote  fastness  flung 
his  protest  to  the  four  winds  1 

"  He's  a  new  one."  Peggy  patted  the  dog,  who 
rose  to  welcome  them.  "  He  ought  to  be  in  the 
kennels.  Somebody  didn't  know." 

Somebody  probably  had  not  known,  but  had 
learned.  For  now  the  door  opened,  and  a  young 
man  came  in.  He  was  a  big  young  man  with  fair 
hair,  and  he  had  arrived  on  the  train. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  as  he  saw  them,  "  but 
they  told  me  I  had  put  my  dog  in  the  wrong  place." 

Peggy  was  important.  "  He  belongs  at  the  ken- 
nels. He's  in  Diogenes'  corner." 

"Diogenes?" 

The  old  drake,  reassured  by  the  sound  of  voices, 
showed  himself  for  a  moment  in  the  track  of  the 
lantern  light. 

"  There  he  is,"  Peggy  said,  excitedly  ;  "  he  lives  in 
here  by  himself." 

18 


A  LADT  WITH  A  LANTERN 

Anne  had  not  spoken,  but  as  she  lifted  the  lantern 
from  its  nail  and  held  it  high,  Richard  Brooks  was 
aware  that  this  was  the  same  girl  whom  he  had 
glimpsed  from  the  train.  He  had  noted  then  her 
slenderness  of  outline,  the  grace  and  freedom  of  her 
pose  ;  at  closer  range  he  saw  her  delicate  smallness  ; 
the  bloom  on  her  cheek ;  the  dusky  softness  of  her 
hair ;  the  length  of  her  lashes ;  the  sapphire  deeps 
of  her  eyes.  Yet  it  was  not  these  charms  which  ar- 
rested his  attention ;  it  was,  rather,  a  certain  swift 
thought  of  her  as  superior  to  her  surroundings. 

"  Then  it  is  Diogenes  whose  pardon  I  must  beg," 
he  said,  his  eyes  twinkling  as  the  old  drake  took 
refuge  behind  Anne's  skirts.  "  Toby,  come  out  of 
that.  It's  you  for  a  cold  kennel." 

"  It's  not  cold  in  the  kennels,"  Peggy  protested  ;  "  it 
is  nice  and  warm,  and  the  food  is  fixed  by  Eric  Brand." 

"  And  where  can  I  find  Eric  Brand  ?  " 

"  He  isn't  here."  It  was  Anne  who  answered  him. 
"  He  is  away  for  the  New  Year.  Peggy  and  I  have 
been  looking  after  the  dogs." 

She  did  not  tell  him  that  she  had  done  it  because 
she  liked  dogs,  and  not  because  it  was  a  part  of  her 
day's  work.  And  he  did  not  know  that  she  taught 
school.  Hence,  as  he  walked  beside  her  toward  the 
kennels,  with  Peggy  dancing  on  ahead  with  Toby, 
and  with  Diogenes  left  behind  in  full  possession,  he 
thought  of  her,  quite  naturally,  as  the  daughter  of 
Peter  Bower. 

19 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

It  was  an  uproarious  pack  which  greeted  them. 
Every  Old  Gentleman  owned  a  dog,  and  there  was 
Peter's  Mamie,  two  or  three  eager-eyed  pointers, 
setters,  hounds  and  Chesapeake  Bay  dogs.  Old 
Mamie  was  nondescript,  and  was  shut  up  in  the 
kennels  to-night  only  because  Eric  was  away.  She 
was  eminently  trustworthy,  and  usually  ran  at  large. 

Toby,  given  a  box  to  himself,  turned  his  melting 
eyes  upon  his  master  and  whined. 

"  He  was  sent  to  me  just  before  I  left  New  York," 
Richard  explained.  "  I  fancy  he  is  rather  homesick. 
I  am  the  only  thing  in  sight  that  he  knows." 

"  You  might  take  him  into  the  house,"  Anne  said 
doubtfully,  "  only  it  is  a  rule  that  if  there  are  many 
dogs  they  all  have  to  share  alike  and  stay  out  here. 
When  there  are  only  two  or  three  they  go  into  the 
sitting-room  with  the  men." 

"  He  can  lie  down  behind  the  stove  in  the  kitchen," 
Peggy  offered  hospitably.  "  Mamie  does." 

Richard  shook  his  head.  "Toby  will  have  to 
learn  with  the  rest  of  us  that  life  isn't  always  what 
we  want  it  to  be." 

He  was  startled  by  the  look  which  the  girl  with  the 
lantern  gave  him.  "Why  shouldn't  it  be  as  we 
want  it ? "  she  said,  with  sudden  fire ;  "if  I  were 
Providence,  I'd  make  things  pleasant,  and  you  are 
playing  Providence  to  Toby.  Why  not  let  him 
have  the  comfort  of  the  kitchen  stove  ?  " 


20 


CHAPTER  II 

In   Which  a  Princess  Serving  Finds  That  the  Motto 
of  Kings  is  Meaningless. 

TOBY,  safe  and  snug  behind  the  kitchen  stove, 
was  keenly  alive  to  the  fact  that  supper  was 
being-  served.  He  had  had  his  own  supper,  so  that 
his  interest  was  purely  impersonal. 

Mrs.  Bower  cooked,  and  her  daughter  Beulah 
waited  on  the  table.  The  service  was  not  elaborate. 
Everything  went  in  at  once,  and  Peter  helped  the 
women  carry  the  loaded  trays. 

Anne  Warfield  ate  usually  with  the  family.  She 
would  have  liked  to  sit  with  the  Old  Gentlemen  at 
their  genial  gatherings,  but  it  would  not,  she  felt, 
have  been  sanctioned  by  the  Bowers.  Their  own 
daughter,  Beulah,  would  not  have  done  it.  Beulah 
had  nothing  in  common  with  the  jovial  hunters  and 
fishers.  She  had  her  own  circle  of  companions,  her 
own  small  concerns,  her  own  convictions  as  to  the 
frivolity  of  these  elderly  guests.  She  would  not 
have  cared  to  listen  to  what  they  had  to  say.  She 
did  not  know  that  their  travels,  their  adventures, 
their  stored-up  experience  had  made  them  rich  in 
anecdote,  ready  of  tongue  to  tell  of  wonders  un- 

21 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

dreamed  of  in  the  dullness  of  her  own  monotonous 
days. 

But  Anne  Warfield  knew.  Now  and  then  from  the 
threshold  she  had  caught  the  drift  of  their  discourse, 
and  she  had  yearned  to  draw  closer,  to  sail  with 
them  on  unknown  seas  of  romance  and  of  reminis- 
cence, to  leave  behind  her  for  the  moment  the  at- 
mosphere of  schoolhouse,  of  small  gossip,  of  trivial 
circumstance. 

It  was  with  this  feeling  strong  upon  her  that  to- 
night, when  the  supper  bell  rang,  she  came  into  the 
kitchen  and  asked  Mrs.  Bower  if  she  might  help 
Beulah.  She  had  no  feeling  that  such  labor  was  be- 
neath her.  If  a  princess  cared  to  serve,  she  was 
none  the  less  a  princess  ! 

Secure,  therefore,  in  her  sense  of  unassailable  dig- 
nity, she  entered  the  dining-room.  She  might  have 
been  a  goddess  chained  to  menial  tasks — a  small 
and  vivid  goddess,  with  dusky  hair.  Richard 
Brooks,  observing  her,  had  once  more  a  swift  and 
certain  sense  of  her  fineness  and  of  her  unlikeness  to 
those  about  her. 

The  young  man  with  the  black  ribbon  on  his  eye- 
glass also  observed  her.  Later  he  said  to  Mrs. 
Bower,  "  Can  you  give  me  a  room  here  for  a 
month  ?  " 

"  I  might.  Usually  people  don't  care  to  stay  so 
long  at  this  time  of  year." 

"  I  am  writing  a  book.     I  want  to  stay." 

22 


A  PRINCESS  SERVING 

Beside  Richard  Brooks  at  the  table  sat  Evelyn 
Chesley.  With  the  Button- Ames,  and  Philip  Meade, 
she  had  come  down  with  Richard  and  his  mother  to 
speed  them  upon  their  mad  adventure. 

Evelyn  had  taken  off  her  hat.  Her  wonderful  hair 
was  swept  up  in  a  new  fashion  from  her  forehead,  a 
dull  gold  comb  against  its  native  gold.  She  wore  a 
silken  blouse  of  white,  slightly  open  at  the  neck. 
On  her  fingers  diamonds  sparkled.  It  seemed  to 
Anne,  serving,  as  if  the  air  of  the  long  low  room  were 
charged  with  some  thrilling  quality.  Here  were 
youth  and  beauty,  wit  and  light  laughter,  the  per- 
fume of  the  roses  which  Evelyn  wore  tucked  in  her 
belt.  There  was  the  color,  too,  of  the  roses,  and  of 
the  cloak  in  which  Winifred  Ames  had  wrapped  her 
shivering  fairness.  The  cloak  was  blue,  a  marvel- 
ous pure  shade  like  the  Madonna  blue  of  some  old 
picture. 

Even  Richard's  mother  seemed  illumined  by  the 
radiance  which  enveloped  the  rest.  She  was  a  slen- 
der little  thing  and  wore  plain  and  simple  widow's 
black.  Yet  her  delicate  cheeks  were  flushed,  her 
eyes  were  shining,  and  her  son  had  made  her,  too, 
wear  a  red  rose. 

The  supper  was  suited  to  the  tastes  of  the  old 
epicures  for  whom  it  had  been  planned.  There  were 
oysters  and  ducks  with  the  juices  following  the 
knife,  hot  breads,  wild  grape  jelly,  hominy  and 
celery. 

23 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

The  fattest  Old  Gentleman  carved  the  ducks. 
The  people  who  had  come  on  the  train  were  evi- 
dently his  friends.  Indeed,  he  called  the  little  lady 
with  the  shining  eyes  "  Cousin  Nancy." 

"So  you've  brought  your  boy  back?"  he  said, 
smiling  down  at  her. 

"Oh,  yes,  yes.  Cousin  Brin,  I  feel  as  if  I  had 
reached  the  promised  land." 

"  You'll  find  things  changed.  Nothing  as  it  was 
in  your  father's  time.  Foreigners  to  the  right  of 
you,  foreigners  to  the  left.  Italians,  Greeks — bar- 
barians— cutting  the  old  place  into  little  farms — blot- 
ting out  the  old  landmarks." 

"I  don't  care;  the  house  still  stands,  and  Richard 
will  hang  out  my  father's  sign,  and  when  people 
want  a  doctor,  they  will  come  again  to  Crossroads." 

"  People  in  these  days  go  to  town  for  their 
doctors." 

Richard's  head  went  up.  "  I'll  make  them  come 
to  me,  sir.  And  you  mustn't  think  that  mother 
brought  me  back.  I  came  because  I  wanted  to 
come.  I  hate  New  York." 

The  listening  Old  Gentlemen,  whose  allegiance 
was  given  to  a  staid  and  stately  town  on  the 
Patapsco,  quite  glowed  at  that,  but  Evelyn  flamed  : 

"  You  might  have  made  a  million  in  New  York, 
Richard." 

"  I  don't  want  a  million." 

"  Oh,"  she  appealed  to  Brinsley  Tyson,  "  what  can 

24 


A  PRINCESS  SERVING 

you  do  with  a  man  like  that — without  red  blood- 
without  ambition  ?" 

And  now  it  was  Richard  who  flamed.  "  I  am  am- 
bitious enough,  Eve,  but  it  isn't  to  make  money." 

"  He  has  some  idea,"  the  girl  proclaimed  reck- 
lessly to  the  whole  table,  "  of  living  as  his  ancestors 
lived ;  as  if  one  could.  He  believes  that  people 
should  go  back  to  plain  manners  and  to  strict 
morals.  His  mission  is  to  keep  this  mad  world 
sane." 

A  ripple  of  laughter  greeted  her  scorn.  Her  own 
laughter  met  it.  The  slim  young  man  at  the  other 
end  of  the  table  swung  his  eye-glasses  from  their 
black  ribbon  negligently,  but  his  eyes  missed 
nothing. 

"It  is  my  only  grievance  against  you,  Mrs. 
Nancy,"  Eve  told  the  little  shining  lady.  "I  love 
you  for  everything  else,  but  not  for  this." 

"  I  am  sorry,  my  dear.  But  Richard  and  I  think 
alike.  So  we  are  going  to  settle  at  Crossroads — 
and  live  happy  ever  after." 

Anne  Warfield,  outwardly  calm,  felt  the  blood 
racing  in  her  veins.  The  old  house  at  Crossroads 
was  just  across  the  way  from  her  little  school.  She 
had  walked  in  the  garden  every  day,  and  now  and 
then  she  had  taken  the  children  there.  They  had 
watched  the  squirrels  getting  ready  for  the  winter, 
and  had  fed  the  belated  birds  with  crumbs  from  the 
little  lunch  baskets.  -  And  there  had  been  the  old 

25 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

sun-dial  to  mark  the  hour  when  the  recess  ended, 
and  to  warn  them  that  work  must  begin. 

She  had  a  rapturous  vision  of  what  it  might  be  to 
have  the  old  house  open,  and  to  see  Nancy  Brooks 
and  her  son  Richard  coming  in  and  out. 

Later,  however,  alone  in  her  dull  room,  stripped 
of  its  holiday  trappings,  the  vision  faded.  To 
Nancy  and  Richard  she  would  be  just  the  school- 
teacher across  the  way,  as  to-night  she  had  been  the 
girl  who  waited  on  the  table  1 

There  was  music  down-stairs.  The  whine  of  the 
phonograph  came  up  to  her. 

Peggy,  knocking,  brought  an  interesting  bulletin. 

"  They  are  dancing,"  she  said.  "  Let's  sit  on  the 
stairs  and  look." 

From  the  top  of  the  stairs  they  could  see  straight 
into  the  long  front  room.  The  hall  was  dimly 
lighted  so  that  they  were  themselves  free  from  ob- 
servation. Philip  Meade  and  Eve  were  dancing,  and 
the  Dutton-Ames.  Eve  had  on  very  high  shoes  with 
very  high  heels.  Her  skirt  was  wide  and  flaring. 
She  dipped  and  swayed  and  floated,  and  the  grace 
of  the  man  with  whom  she  danced  matched  her  own. 

"  Isn't  it  lovely,"  said  Peggy's  little  voice,  "  isn't 
it  lovely,  Anne  ?  " 

It  was  lovely,  lovely  as  a  dream.  It  was  a  sort  of 
ecstasy  of  motion.  It  was  youth  and  joy  incarnate. 
Anne  had  a  wild  moment  of  rebellion.  Why  must 
she  sit  always  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  ? 

26 


A  PRINCESS  SERVING 

The  music  stopped.  Eve  and  Philip  became  one 
of  the  circle  around  the  fireplace  in  the  front  room. 
Again  Eve's  roses  and  Winifred's  cloak  gave  color 
to  the  group.  There  was  also  the  leaping  golden 
flame  of  the  fire,  and,  in  the  background,  a  slight 
blue  haze  where  some  of  the  Old  Gentlemen  smoked. 

The  young  man  with  the  eye-glasses  was  telling 
a  story.  He  told  it  well,  and  there  was  much 
laughter  when  he  finished.  When  the  music  began 
again,  he  danced  with  Winifred  Ames.  Button 
Ames  watched  them,  smiling.  He  always  smiled 
when  his  eyes  rested  on  his  lovely  wife. 

Evelyn  danced  with  Richard.  He  did  not  dance  as 
well  as  Philip,  but  he  gave  the  effect  of  doing  it 
easily.  He  swung  her  finally  out  into  the  hall.  The 
whine  of  the  phonograph  ceased.  Richard  and  Eve 
sat  down  on  a  lower  step  of  the  stairway. 

The  girl's  voice  came  up  to  the  quiet  watchers 
clearly.  "When  are  you  coming  to  New  York  to 
dance  with  me  again,  Dicky  Boy?" 

"  You  must  come  down  here.  Pip  will  bring  you 
in  his  car  for  the  week-ends,  with  the  Dutton-Ames. 
And  I'll  get  a  music  box  and  a  lot  of  new  records. 
The  old  dining-room  has  a  wonderful  floor." 

"  I  hate  your  wonderful  floor  and  your  horrid  old 
house.  And  when  I  think  of  Fifth  Avenue  and  the 
lights  and  the  theaters  and  you  away  from  it 
all " 

"  Poor  young  doctors  have  no  right  to  the  lights 

27 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

and  all  the  rest  of  it.  Eve,  don't  let's  quarrel  at  thft 
last  moment.  You'll  be  reconciled  to  it  all  some 
day." 

"  I  shall  never  be  reconciled." 

And  now  Philip  Meade  was  claiming  her.  "  You 
promised  me  this,  Eve." 

"  I  shall  have  all  the  rest  of  the  winter  for  you, 
Pip." 

"  As  if  that  made  any  difference  1  I  never  put  off 
till  to-morrow  the  things  I  want  to  do  to-day.  And 
as  for  Richard,  he'll  come  running  back  to  us  before 
the  winter  is  over." 

Richard  shrugged.  "You're  a  pair  of  cheerful 
prophets.  Go  and  fox-trot  with  him,  Eve." 

Left  alone,  the  eyes  of  the  young  doctor  went  at 
once  to  the  top  of  the  stairs. 

"  Come  down  and  dance,"  he  said. 

"  Do  you  mean  me  ?  "  Peggy  demanded  out  of  the 
dimness. 

"  I  mean  both  of  you." 

"  I  can't  dance — not  the  new  dances."  Anne  was 
conscious  of  an  overwhelming  shyness.  "Take 
Peggy." 

"  How  did  you  know  we  were  up  here  ?  "  Peggy 
asked. 

"  Well,  I  heard  a  little  laugh,  and  a  little  whisper, 
and  I  looked  up  and  saw  a  little  girl." 

"  Oh,  oh,  did  you  really  ?  " 

"  Really." 

28 


A  PRINCESS  SERVING 

"  Well,  I  can't  dance.     But  I  can  try." 

So  they  tried,  with  Richard  lifting  the  child  lightly 
to  the  lilting  tune. 

When  he  brought  her  back,  he  sat  down  beside 
Anne.  Shyness  still  chained  her,  but  he  chatted  eas- 
ily. Anne  could  not  have  told  why  she  was  shy.  In 
the  stable  she  had  felt  at  her  ease  with  him.  But 
then  she  had  not  seen  Eve  or  Winifred.  It  was  the 
women  who  had  seemed  to  make  the  difference. 

Presently,  however,  he  had  her  telling  of  her 
school.  "  It  begins  again  to-morrow." 

"Do  you  like  it?" 

"  Teaching  ?     No.     But  I  love  the  children." 

"  Do  you  teach  Peggy  ?  " 

"  Yes.  She  is  too  young,  really,  but  she  insists 
upon  going." 

"  There  used  to  be  a  schoolhouse  across  the  road 
from  my  grandfather's.  A  red  brick  school  with  a 
bell  on  top." 

"  There  is  still  a  bell.  I  always  ring  it  myself,  al- 
though the  boys  beg  to  do  it.  But  I  like  to  think  of 
myself  as  the  bell  ringer." 

It  was  while  they  sat  there  that  Eric  Brand  came 
in  through  the  kitchen-way  to  the  hall.  He  stood 
for  a  moment  looking  into  the  lighted  front  room 
where  Eve  still  danced  with  Philip  Meade,  and  where 
the  young  man  with  the  eye-glasses  talked  with  the 
Dutton-Ames.  Anne  instinctively  kept  silent.  It 
was  Peggy  who  revealed  their  hiding  place  to  him. 

29 


MISTRESS  JNNE 

"Oh,  Eric,"  she  piped,  "are  you  back?"  She 
went  flying  down  the  stairs  to  him. 

He  caught  her,  and  holding  her  in  his  arms,  peered 
up.  "  Who's  there  ?  " 

Peggy  answered.  "  It's  Anne  and  the  new  doctor. 
I  danced  with  him,  and  he  came  on  the  train  with 
those  other  people  in  there — and  he  has  a  dog  named 
Toby — it's  in  the  kitchen." 

"  So  that's  his  dog  ?  It  will  have  to  go  to  the 
kennels  for  the  night" 

Richard,  descending,  apologized.  "  I  shouldn't 
have  let  Toby  stay  in  the  house,  but  Miss  Bower  put 
in  a  plea  for  him." 

"  Beulah  ?  " 

"  He  means  Anne,"  Peggy  explained.  "  Her  name 
is  Warfield.  It's  funny  you  didn't  know." 

"  How  could  I  ?  "  Richard  had  a  feeling  that  he 
owed  the  little  goddess-girl  an  explanation  of  his 
stupidity.  He  found  himself  again  ascending  the 
stairs. 

But  Anne  had  fled.  Overwhelmingly  she  realized 
that  Richard  had  believed  her  to  be  the  daughter  of 
Peter  Bower.  Daughter  of  that  crude  and  com- 
mon man  1  Sister  of  Beulah  1  Friend  of  Eric 
Brand  1 

Well,  she  had  brought  it  on  herself.  She  had 
looked  after  the  dogs  and  she  had  waited  on  the 
table.  People  thought  differently  of  these  things. 
The  ideals  she  had  tried  to  teach  her  children  were 

30 


A  PRINCESS  SERVING 

not  the  ideals  of  the  larger  world.  Labor  did  not 
dignify  itself.  The  motto  of  kings  was  meaningless  ! 
A  princess  serving  was  no  longer  a  princess  1 

Sitting  very  tense  and  still  in  the  little  rocking- 
chair  in  her  own  room,  she  decided  that  of  course 
Richard  looked  down  on  her.  He  had  perceived  in 
her  no  common  ground  of  birth  or  of  breeding.  Yet 
her  grandfather  had  been  the  friend  of  the  grand- 
father of  Richard  Brooks  1 

When  Peggy  came  up,  she  announced  that  she 
was  to  sleep  with  Anne.  It  was  an  arrangement  often 
made  when  the  house  was  full.  To-night  Anne  wel- 
comed the  cheery  presence  of  the  child.  She  sang 
her  to  sleep,  and  then  sat  for  a  long  time  by  the  lit- 
tle round  stove  with  Peggy  in  her  arms. 

She  laid  her  down  as  a  knock  sounded  on  her 
door. 

"  Are  you  up  ?  "  some  one  asked,  and  she  opened 
it,  to  find  Evelyn  Chesley. 

"May  I  borrow  a  needle?"  She  showed  a  torn 
length  of  lace-trimmed  flounce.  "  I  caught  it  on 
a  rocker  in  my  room.  There  shouldn't  be  any 
rocker." 

"  Mrs.  Bower  loves  them,"  Anne  said,  as  she  hunted 
through  her  little  basket ;  "  she  loves  to  rock  and 
rock.  All  the  women  around  here  do." 

"  Then  you're  not  one  of  them  ?  " 

"  No.  My  grandmother  was  Cynthia  Warfield  of 
Carroll." 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

The  name  meant  nothing  to  Evelyn.  It  would 
have  meant  much  to  Nancy  Brooks. 

"How  did  you  happen  to  come  here?  I  don't  see 
how  any  one  could  choose  to  come." 

"  My  mother  died — and  there  was  no  one  but  my 
Great-uncle  Rodman  Warfield.  I  had  to  get  some- 
thing to  do — so  I  came  here,  and  Uncle  Rod  went 
to  live  with  a  married  cousin." 

Evelyn  had  perched  herself  on  the  post  of  Anne's 
bed  and  was  mending  the  flounce.  Although  she 
was  not  near  the  lamp,  she  gave  an  effect  of  gather- 
ing to  her  all  the  light  of  the  room.  She  was  wrapped 
in  a  robe  of  rose-color,  a  strange  garment  with  fur 
to  set  it  off,  and  of  enormous  fullness.  It  spread 
about  her  and  billowed  out  until  it  almost  hid  the 
little  bed  and  the  child  upon  it. 

Beside  her,  Anne  in  her  blue  serge  felt  clumsy  and 
common  She  knew  that  she  ought  not  to  feel  that 
way,  but  she  did.  She  would  have  told  her  scholars 
that  it  was  not  clothes  that  made  the  man,  or  dress 
the  woman.  But  then  she  told  her  scholars  many 
things  that  were  right  and  good.  She  tried  herself 
to  be  as  right  and  good  as  her  theories.  But  it  was 
not  always  possible.  It  was  not  possible  at  this 
moment. 

"What  brought  you  here?"  Eve  persisted. 

"  I  teach  school.     I  came  in  September." 

"  What  do  you  teach  ?  " 

"  Everything.     We  are  not  graded." 

32 


A  PRINCESS  SERVING 

"  I  hope  you  teach  them  to  be  honest  with  them- 
selves." 

"I  am  not  sure  that  I  know  what  you  mean  ? " 

"  Don't  let  them  pretend  to  be  something  that 
they  are  not.  That's  why  so  many  people  fail. 
They  reach  too  high,  and  fall.  That's  what  Nancy 
Brooks  is  doing  to  Richard.  She  is  making  him 
reach  too  high." 

She  laughed  as  she  bent  above  her  needle.  "I 
fancy  you  are  not  interested  in  that.  But  I  can't 
think  of  anything  but — the  waste  of  it.  I  hope  you 
will  all  be  so  healthy  that  you  won't  need  him,  and 
then  he  will  have  to  come  back  to  New  York." 

"  I  don't  see  how  anybody  could  leave  New  York. 
Not  to  come  down  here."  Anne  drew  a  quick  breath. 

Eve  spoke  carelessly :  "  Oh,  well,  I  suppose  it 
isn't  so  bad  here  for  a  woman,  but  for  a  man — a 
man  needs  big  spaces.  Richard  will  be  cramped — 
he'll  shrink  to  the  measure  of  all  this — narrowness." 
She  had  finished  her  flounce,  and  she  rose  and  gave 
Anne  the  needle.  "  In  the  morning,  if  the  weather  is 
good,  we  are  to  ride  to  Crossroads.  Is  your  school 
very  far  away  ?  " 

"It  is  opposite  Crossroads.  Mrs.  Brooks'  father 
built  it." 

Anne  spoke  stiffly.  She  had  felt  the  sting  of  Eve's 
indifference,  and  she  was  furious  with  herself  for  her 
consciousness  of  Eve's  clothes,  of  her  rings — of  the 
gold  comb  in  her  hair. 

33 


MISTRESS  4NNE 

When  her  visitor  had  gone,  Anne  took  down  her 
own  hair,  and  flung  it  up  into  a  soft  knot  on  the  top 
of  her  head.  Swept  back  thus,  her  face  seemed  to 
bloom  into  sudden  beauty.  She  slipped  the  blue 
dress  from  her  shoulders  and  saw  the  long  slim  line 
of  her  neck  and  the  whiteness  of  her  skin. 

The  fire  had  died  down  in  the  little  round  stove. 
The  room  was  cold.  She  thought  of  Eve's  rose- 
color,  and  of  the  warmth  of  her  furs. 

Bravely,  however,  she  hummed  the  tune  to  which 
the  others  had  danced.  She  lifted  her  feet  in  time. 
Her  shoes  were  heavy,  and  she  took  them  off.  She 
tried  to  get  the  rhythm,  the  lightness,  the  grace  of 
movement.  But  these  things  must  be  taught,  and 
she  had  no  one  to  teach  her. 

When  at  last  she  crept  into  bed  beside  the  sleep- 
ing Peggy,  she  was  chilled  to  the  bone,  and  she  was 
crying. 

Peggy  stirred  and  murmured. 

Soothing  the  child,  Anne  told  herself  fiercely  that 
she  was  a  goose  to  be  upset  because  Eve  Chesley 
had  rings  and  wore  rose-color.  Why,  she  was  no 
better  than  Diogenes,  who  had  fumed  and  fussed 
because  Toby  had  taken  his  straw  in  the  stable. 

But  her  philosophy  failed  to  bring  peace  of  mind. 
For  a  long  time  she  lay  awake,  working  it  out.  At 
last  she  decided,  wearily,  that  she  had  wept  because 
she  really  didn't  know  any  of  the  worth-while  things. 
She  didn't  know  any  of  the  young  things  and  the 

34 


A  PRINCESS  SERVING 

gay  things.  She  didn't  know  how  to  dance  or 
to  talk  to  men  like  Richard  Brooks.  The  only 
things  that  she  knew  in  the  whole  wide  world  were 
— books  1 


35 


CHAPTER  III 
In  Which  the  Crown  Prince  Enters  Upon  His  Own. 

IT  developed  that  the  name  of  the  young  man  with 
the  eye-glasses  was  Geoffrey  Fox.     Mrs.  Bower 
told  Anne  at  the  breakfast  table,  as  the  two  women 
sat  alone. 

"  He  is  writing  a  book,  and  he  wants  to  stay." 

"  The  little  dark  man  ?  " 

"  I  shouldn't  call  him  little.  He  is  thin,  but  he  is 
as  tall  as  Richard  Brooks." 

"  Is  he  ? "  To  Anne  it  had  seemed  as  if  Richard 
had  towered  above  her  like  a  young  giant.  She  had 
scarcely  noticed  the  young  man  with  the  eye-glasses. 
He  had  melted  into  the  background  of  old  gentle- 
men ;  had  become,  as  it  were,  a  part  of  a  composite 
instead  of  a  single  personality. 

But  to  be  writing  a  book  ! 

"  What  kind  of  a  book,  Mrs.  Bower?" 

"  I  don't  know.  He  didn't  say.  I  am  going  to 
give  him  the  front  room  in  the  south  wing ;  then  he 
will  have  a  view  of  the  river." 

When  Anne  met  the  dark  young  man  in  the  hall 
an  hour  later,  she  discovered  that  he  had  keen  eyes 
and  a  mocking  smile. 

36 


THE  CROWN  PRINCE 

He  stopped  her.  "Do  we  have  to  be  introduced  ? 
I  am  going  to  stay  here.  Did  Mrs.  Bower  tell 
you  ?  " 

"  She  told  me  you  were  writing  a  book." 

"  Don't  tell  anybody  else  ;  I'm  not  proud  of  it." 

"Why  not?" 

He  shrugged.  "  My  stories  are  pot-boilers,  most 
of  them — with  everybody  happy  in  the  end." 

"  Why  shouldn't  everybody  be  happy  in  the  end  ?  " 

"  Because  life  isn't  that  way." 

"  Life  is  what  we  make  it." 

"  Who  told  you  that  ?  " 

She  flushed.  "  It  is  what  I  tell  my  school  chil- 
dren." 

"  But  have  you  found  it  so  ?  " 

She  faltered.     "  No — but  perhaps  it  is  my  fault." 

"  It  isn't  anybody's  fault.  If  the  gods  smile — we 
are  happy.  If  they  frown,  we  are  miserable.  That's 
all  there  is  to  it." 

"  I  should  hate  to  think  that  was  all."  She  was 
roused  and  ready  to  fight  for  her  ideals.  "  I  should 
hate  to  think  it." 

"All  your  hating  won't  make  it  as  you  want  it," 
his  glance  was  quizzical,  "  but  we  won't  quarrel 
about  it." 

"  Of  course  not,"  stiffly. 

"  And  we  are  to  be  friends?  You  see  I  am  to  stay 
a  month." 

"  Are  you  going  to  write  about  us  ?  " 

37 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

"  I  shall  write  about  the  Old  Gentlemen.  Is  there 
always  such  a  crowd  of  them  ?  " 

"  Only  on  holidays  and  week-ends." 

"  Perhaps  I  shall  write  about  you "  daringly. 

"  I  need  a  little  lovely  heroine." 

Her  look  stopped  him.  His  face  changed.  "  I 
beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  quickly.  "  I  should  not 
have  said  that." 

"  Would  you  have  said  it  if  I  had  not  waited  on 
the  table  ?  "  Her  voice  was  tremulous.  The  color 
that  had  flamed  in  her  cheeks  still  dyed  them.  "  I 
thought  of  it  last  night,  after  I  went  up-stairs.  I 
have  been  trying  to  teach  my  little  children  in  my 
school  that  there  is  dignity  in  service,  and  so — I 
have  helped  Mrs.  Bower.  But  I  felt  that  people  did 
not  understand." 

"  You  felt  that  we — thought  less  of  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  very  low. 

"  And  that  I  spoke  as  I  did  because  I  did  not — 
respect  you  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Then  I  beg  your  pardon.  Indeed,  I  do  beg  your 
pardon.  It  was  thoughtless.  Will  you  believe  that 
it  was  only  because  I  was  thoughtless?" 

"  Yes."  But  her  troubled  eyes  did  not  meet  his. 
"  Perhaps  I  am  too  sensitive.  Perhaps  you  would 
have  said — the  same  things — to  Eve  Chesley — if  you 
had  just  met  her.  But  I  am  sure  you  would  not  have 
said  it  in  the  same  tone." 

38 


THE  CROWN  PRINCE 

He  held  out  his  hand  to  her.  "  You'll  forgive  me  ? 
Yes  ?  And  be  friends  ?  " 

She  did  not  seem  to  see  his  hand.  "  Of  course  I 
forgive  you,"  she  said,  with  a  girlish  dignity  which 
sat  well  upon  her,  "  and  perhaps  I  have  made  too 
much  of  it,  but  you  see  I  am  so  much  alone,  and  I 
think  so  much." 

He  wanted  to  ask  her  questions,  of  why  she  was 
there  and  of  why  she  was  alone.  But  something  in 
her  manner  forbade,  and  so  they  spoke  of  other 
things  until  she  left  him. 

Geoffrey  went  out  later  for  a  walk  in  the  blinding 
snow.  All  night  it  had  snowed  and  the  storm  had 
a  blizzard  quality,  with  the  wind  howling  and  the 
drifts  piling  to  prodigious  heights.  Geoffrey  faced 
the  elements  with  a  strength  which  won  the  respect 
of  Richard  Brooks  who,  also  out  in  it,  with  his 
dog  Toby,  was  battling  gloriously  with  wind  and 
weather. 

"  If  we  can  reach  the  shelter  of  the  pines,"  he 
shouted,  "  they'll  break  the  force  of  the  storm." 

Within  the  wood  the  snow  was  in  winding  sheets 
about  the  great  trees. 

"  What  giant  ghosts  I "  Geoffrey  said.  "  Yet  in  a 
month  or  two  the  sap  will  run  warm  in  their  veins, 
and  the  silence  will  be  lapped  by  waves  of  sound — 
the  singing  of  birds  and  of  little  streams." 

"  I  used  to  come  here  when  I  was  a  boy,"  Richard 
told  him.  "  There  were  violets  under  the  bank,  and 

39 


MISTRESS  4NNE 

I  picked  them  and  made  tight  bunches  of  them  and 
gave  them  to  my  mother.  She  was  young  then.  I 
remember  that  she  usually  wore  white  dresses,  with 
a  blue  sash  fluttering." 

"  You  lived  here  then  ?  " 

"  No,  we  visited  at  my  grandfather's,  a  mile  or 
two  away.  He  used  to  drive  us  down,  and  he 
would  sit  out  there  on  the  point  and  fish, — a  grand 
old  figure,  in  his  broad  hat,  with  his  fishing  creel 
over  his  shoulder.  There  were  just  two  sports  that 
my  grandfather  loved,  fishing  and  fox-hunting ;  but 
he  was  a  very  busy  doctor  and  couldn't  ride  often 
to  hounds.  But  he  kept  a  lot  of  them.  He  would 
have  had  a  great  contempt  for  Toby.  His  own  dogs 
were  a  wiry  little  breed." 

"  My  grandfather  was  blind,  and  always  in  his 
library.  So  my  boyhood  was  different.  I  used  to 
read  to  him.  I  liked  it,  and  I  wouldn't  exchange 
my  memories  for  yours,  except  the  violets — I  should 
like  to  pick  them  here  in  the  spring — perhaps  I  shall 
— I  told  Mrs.  Bower  I  would  take  a  room  for  a 
month  or  more — and  since  we  have  spoken  of  vio- 
lets— I  may  wait  for  their  blooming." 

He  laughed,  and  as  they  turned  back,  "I  have 
found  several  things  to  keep  me,"  he  said,  but  he 
did  not  name  them. 

All  day  Anne  was  aware  of  the  presence  in  the 
house  of  the  young  guests.  She  was  aware  of  Wini- 
fred Ames'  blue  cloak  and  of  Eve's  roses.  She  was 

40 


THE  CROWN  PRINCE 

aware  of  Richard's  big  voice  booming  through  the 
hall,  of  Geoffrey's  mocking  laugh. 

But  she  did  not  go  down  among  them.  She  ate 
her  meals  after  the  others  had  finished.  She  did  not 
wait  upon  the  table  and  she  did  not  sit  upon  the 
stairs.  In  the  afternoon  she  wrote  a  long  letter  to 
her  Great-uncle  Rodman,  and  she  went  early  to  bed. 

She  was  waked  in  the  morning  by  the  bustle  of 
departure.  Some  of  the  Old  Gentlemen  went  back 
by  motor,  others  by  train.  Warmed  by  a  hearty 
breakfast,  bundled  into  their  big  coats,  they  were 
lighted  on  their  way  by  Eric  Brand. 

It  was  just  as  the  sun  flashed  over  the  horizon  and 
showed  the  whiteness  of  a  day  swept  clear  by  the 
winds  of  the  night  that  the  train  for  the  north  car- 
ried off  the  Dutton-Ames,  Philip  and  Eve. 

Evelyn  went  protesting.  "  Some  day  you  are  go- 
ing to  regret  it,  Richard." 

"  Don't  croak.     Wish  me  good  luck,  Eve." 

But  she  would  not.  Yet  when  she  stood  at  last 
on  the  train  steps  to  say  "  Good-bye,"  she  had  in 
her  hand  one  of  the  roses  he  had  given  her  and 
which  she  had  worn.  She  touched  it  lightly  to  her 
lips  and  tossed  it  to  him. 

By  the  time  he  had  picked  it  up  the  train  was  on 
its  way,  and  Evelyn,  looking  back,  had  her  last 
glimpse  of  him  standing  straight  and  tall  against 
the  morning  sky,  the  rose  in  his  hand. 

It  was  eight  o'clock  when  Eric  drove  Anne  and 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

Peggy  through  the  drifts  to  the  Crossroads  school. 
It  was  nine  when  Geoffrey  Fox  came  down  to  a  late 
breakfast.  It  was  ten  when  Richard  and  his  mother 
and  the  dog  Toby  in  a  hired  conveyance  arrived  at 
the  place  which  had  once  been  Nancy's  home. 

Imposing,  even  in  its  shabbiness,  stood  the  old 
house,  at  the  end  of  an  avenue  of  spired  cedars. 

As  they  opened  the  door  a  grateful  warmth  met 
them. 

"  David  has  been  here,"  Nancy  said.  "  Oh, 
Richard,  Richard,  what  a  glorious  day  to  begin." 

And  now  there  came  from  among  the  shadows  a 
sound  which  made  them  stop  and  listen.  "Tick, 
tock,"  said  the  great  hall  clock. 

"Mother,  who  wound  it?" 

Nancy  Brooks  laughed  tremulously.  "  Cousin 
David  had  the  key.  In  all  these  years  he  has  never 
let  the  old  clock  run  down.  It  seemed  queer  to 
think  of  it  ticking  away  in  this  empty  house." 

There  were  tears  in  her  eyes.  He  stooped  and 
kissed  her.  "And  now  that  you  are  here,  you  are 
going  to  be  happy  ?  " 

"  Very  happy,  dear  boy." 

It  was  nearly  twelve  when  David  Tyson  came 
limping  up  the  path.  He  had  a  basket  in  one  hand, 
and  a  cane  in  the  other.  Behind  him  trotted  a 
weedy-looking  foxhound.  The  dog  Toby,  charging 
out  of  the  door  as  Nancy  opened  it,  fell,  as  it  were, 
upon  the  neck  of  the  hound.  His  overtures  of 

42 


THE  CROWN  PRINCE 

friendship  were  met  with  a  dignified  aloofness  which 
merged  gradually  into  a  reluctant  cordiality. 

Nancy  held  out  both  hands  to  the  old  man.  "  I 
saw  you  coming.  Oh,  how  good  it  seems  to  be 
here  again,  Cousin  David." 

"  Let  me  look  at  you."  He  set  the  basket  down, 
and  took  her  hands  in  his.  Then  he  shook  his 
head.  "New  York  has  done  things  to  you,"  he 
said.  "  It  has  given  you  a  few  gray  hairs.  But 
now  that  you  are  back  again  I  shall  try  to  for- 
give it." 

"  I  shall  never  forgive  it,"  she  said,  "  for  what  it 
has  done  to  me  and  mine." 

"  But  you  are  here,  and  you  have  brought  your 
boy  ;  that's  a  thing  to  be  thankful  for,  Nancy." 

They  were  silent  in  the  face  of  overwhelming 
memories.  The  only  sound  in  the  shadowy  hall  was 
the  ticking  of  the  old  clock — the  old  clock  which 
had  tick-tocked  in  all  the  years  of  loneliness  with  no 
one  to  listen. 

Richard  greeted  him  with  heartiness.  "  This  looks 
pretty  good  to  me,  Cousin  David." 

"  It's  God's  country,  Richard.  Brin  hates  it.  He 
loves  his  club  and  the  city  streets.  But  for  me  there's 
nothing  worth  while  but  this  sweep  of  the  hills  and 
the  river  between." 

He  uncovered  his  basket.  "Tom  put  up  some 
things  for  you.  I've  engaged  Milly,  a  mulatto  girl, 
but  she  can't  get  here  until  to-morrow.  She  is 

43 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

about  the  best  there  is  left.  Most  of  them  go  to 
town.  She'll  probably  seem  pretty  crude  after  New 
York  servants,  Nancy." 

"  I  don't  care."  Nancy  almost  sang  the  words. 
11 1  don't  care  what  I  have  to  put  up  with,  Cousin 
David.  I  shall  sleep  to-night  under  my  own  roof 
with  nothing  between  me  and  the  stars.  And  there 
won't  be  anybody  overhead  or  underneath,  and  there 
won't  be  a  pianola  to  the  right  of  me,  and  a  phono- 
graph to  the  left,  and  there  won't  be  the  rumble  of 
the  subway  or  the  crash  of  the  elevated,  and  in  the 
morning  I  shall  open  my  eyes  and  see  the  sun  rise 
over  the  river,  and  I  shall  look  out  upon  the  world 
that  I  love  and  have  loved  all  of  these  years " 

And  now  she  was  crying,  and  Richard  had  her  in 
his  arms.  Over  her  head  he  looked  at  the  older 
man.  "  I  didn't  dream  that  she  felt  like  this." 

"  I  knew — as  soon  as  I  saw  her.  You  must  never 
take  her  back,  Richard." 

41  Of  course  not,"  hotly. 

Yet  with  the  perverseness  of  youth  he  was  aware, 
as  he  said  it,  of  a  sudden  sense  of  revolt  against  the 
prospect  of  a  future  spent  in  this  quiet  place.  Flash- 
ing came  a  vision  of  the  city  he  had  left,  of  crowded 
hospitals,  of  big  men  consulting  with  big  men,  of  old 
men  imparting  their  secrets  of  healing  to  the  young  ; 
of  limousines  speeding  luxuriously  on  errands  of 
mercy ;  of  patients  pouring  out  their  wealth  to  the 
men  who  had  made  them  well. 

44 


THE  CROWN  PRINCE 

All  this  he  had  given  up  because  his  mother  had 
asked  it.  She  had  spoken  of  the  place  which  his 
grandfather  had  rilled,  of  the  dignity  of  a  country 
practice,  of  the  opportunities  for  research  and  for 
experiment.  At  close  range,  the  big  town  set  be- 
tween its  rivers  and  the  sea  had  seemed  noisy  and 
vulgar.  Its  people  had  seemed  mad  in  their  race  for 
money.  Its  medical  men  had  seemed  to  lack  the 
fineness  and  finish  which  come  to  those  who  move 
and  meditate  in  quiet  places. 

But  seen  from  afar  as  he  saw  it  now,  it  seemed  a 
wonder  city,  its  tall  buildings  outlined  like  gigantic 
castles  against  the  sky.  It  seemed  filled  to  the  brim 
with  vivid  life.  It  seemed,  indeed,  to  call  him  back  ! 

While  David  and  Nancy  talked  he  went  out,  and, 
from  the  top  of  the  snowy  steps,  surveyed  his 
domain.  Back  and  back  in  the  wide  stretch  of 
country  which  faced  him,  beyond  the  valleys,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  hills,  were  people  who  would  some 
day  listen  for  the  step  of  young  Richard  as  those 
who  had  gone  before  had  listened  for  the  step  of  his 
grandfather.  He  saw  himself  going  forth  on  stormy 
nights  to  fight  pain  and  pestilence  ;  to  minister  to 
little  children,  to  patient  mothers  ;  to  men  beaten 
down  by  an  enemy  before  whom  their  strength  was 
as  wax.  They  would  wait  for  him,  anxious  for  his 
verdict,  yet  fearing  it,  welcoming  him  as  a  saviour, 
who  would  stand  with  flaming  sword  between  dis- 
ease and  the  Dark  Angel. 

45 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

The  schoolhouse  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  road. 
It  was  built  of  brick  like  the  house.  Richard's  grand- 
father had  paid  for  the  brick.  He  had  believed  in 
public  schools  and  had  made  this  one  possible. 
Children  came  to  it  from  all  the  countryside.  There 
were  other  schools  in  the  sleepy  town.  This  was 
the  Crossroads  school,  as  Richard  Tyson  had  been 
the  Crossroads  doctor.  He  had  given  himself  to  a 
rural  community — his  journeys  had  been  long  and 
his  life  hard,  but  he  had  loved  the  labor. 

The  bell  rang  for  the  noon  recess.  The  children 
appeared  presently,  trudging  homeward  through 
the  snow  to  their  midday  dinners.  Then  Anne  War- 
field  came  out.  She  wore  a  heavy  brown  coat  and 
soft  brown  hat.  In  her  hand  was  a  small  earthen 
dish.  She  strewed  seeds  for  the  birds,  and  they  flew 
down  in  front  of  her — juncoes  and  sparrows,  a  tufted 
titmouse,  a  cardinal  blood-red  against  the  whiteness. 
She  was  like  a  bird  herself  in  all  her  brown. 

When  the  dish  was  empty,  she  turned  it  upside 
down,  and  spread  her  hands  to  show  that  there  was 
nothing  more.  On  the  Saturday  night  when  she 
had  waited  on  the  table,  Richard  had  noticed  the 
loveliness  of  her  hands.  They  were  small  and  white, 
and  without  rings.  Yet  in  spite  of  their  smallness 
and  whiteness,  he  knew  that  they  were  useful  hands, 
for  she  had  served  well  at  Bower's.  And  now  he 
knew  that  they  were  kindly  hands,  for  she  had  fed 
the  birds  who  had  come  begging  to  her  door. 

46 


THE  CROWN  PRINCE 

Peggy  joined  her,  and  the  two  came  out  the  gate 
together.  Anne  looking  across  saw  Richard.  She 
hesitated,  then  crossed  the  road. 

He  at  once  went  to  meet  her.  She  flushed  a  little 
as  she  spoke  to  him.  "  Peggy  and  I  want  to  ask  a 
favor.  We've  always  had  our  little  Twelfth  Night 
play  in  the  Crossroads  stable.  And  we  had  planned 
for  it  this  year — you  see,  we  didn't  know  that  you 
were  coming." 

"  And  we  were  afraid  that  you  wouldn't  want  us," 
Peggy  told  him. 

"  Were  you  really  afraid  ?  " 

"  I  wasn't.     But  Miss  Anne  was." 

"  I  told  the  children  that  they  mustn't  be  disap- 
pointed if  we  were  not  able  to  do  this  year  as  we  had 
done  before.  I  felt  that  with  people  in  the  house,  it 
might  not  be  pleasant  for  them  to  have  us  coming  in 
such  a  crowd." 

"  It  will  be  pleasant,  and  mother  will  be  much  in- 
terested. I  wish  you'd  come  up  and  tell  us  about  it." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  Peggy  and  I  have  just 
time  to  get  back  to  Bower's  for  our  dinner." 

"  Aren't  the  roads  bad  ?  " 

"  Not  when  the  snow  is  hard." 

Peggy  went  reluctantly.  "  I  think  he  is  perfectly 
lovely,"  she  said,  at  a  safe  distance.  "  Don't  you  ?  " 

Anne's  reply  was  guarded.  "  He  is  very  kind.  I 
am  glad  that  he  doesn't  mind  about  the  Twelfth 
Night  play,  Peggy." 

47 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

Richard  spoke  to  David  of  Anne  as  the  two  men,  a 
few  minutes  later,  climbed  the  hill  toward  David's 
house. 

"  She  seems  unusual." 

"  She  is  the  best  teacher  we  have  ever  had,  but 
she  ought  not  to  be  at  Bower's.  She  isn't  their 
kind." 

David's  little  house,  set  on  top  of  a  hill,  was  small 
and  shabby  without,  but  within  it  was  as  compact  as 
a  ship's  cabin.  David's  old  servant,  Tom,  kept  it 
immaculate,  and  there  were  books  everywhere,  old 
portraits,  precious  bits  of  mahogany. 

From  the  window  beside  the  fireplace  there  was 
a  view  of  the  river.  It  was  a  blue  river  to-day, 
sparkling  in  the  sunshine.  David,  standing  beside 
Richard,  spoke  of  it. 

"  It  isn't  always  blue,  but  it  is  always  beautiful. 
Even  when  the  snow  flies  as  it  did  yesterday." 

"  And  are  you  content  with  this,  Cousin  David  ?  " 

The  answer  was  evasive.  "  I  have  my  little  law 
practice,  and  my  books.  And  is  any  one  ever  con- 
tent, Richard?" 

Going  down  the  hill,  Richard  pondered.  Was 
Eve  right  after  all  ?  Did  a  man  who  turned  his  face 
away  from  the  rush  of  cities  really  lack  red  blood  ? 

Stopping  at  the  schoolhouse,  he  found  teacher 
and  scholars  still  gone.  But  the  door  was  unlocked 
and  he  went  in.  The  low-ceiled  room  was  charm- 
ing, and  the  good  taste  of  the  teacher  was  evident  in 

48 


THE  CROWN  PRINCE 

its  decorations.  There  were  branches  of  pine  and 
cedar  on  the  walls,  a  picture  of  Washington  at  one 
end  with  a  flag  draped  over  it,  a  pot  of  primroses  in 
the  south  window. 

There  were  several  books  on  Anne's  desk.  Some- 
what curiously  he  examined  the  titles.  A  shabby 
Browning,  a  modern  poet  or  two,  Chesterton,  a 
volume  of  Pepys,  the  pile  topped  by  a  small  black 
Bible.  Moved  by  a  sudden  impulse,  he  opened  the 
Bible.  The  leaves  fell  back  at  a  marked  passage  : 

"Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled" 

He  shut  the  book  sharply.  It  was  as  if  he  had 
peered  into  the  girl's  soul.  The  red  was  in  his 
cheeks  as  he  turned  away. 

That  night  Nancy  Brooks  went  with  Richard  to 
his  room.  On  the  threshold  she  stopped. 

"  I  have  given  this  room  to  you,"  she  said, 
"  because  it  was  mine  when  I  was  a  girl,  and  all  my 
dreams  have  been  shut  in — waiting  for  you." 

"Mother,"  he  caught  her  hands  in  his,  "you 
mustn't  dream  too  much  for  me." 

"  Let  me  dream  to-night ; "  she  was  looking  up  at 
him  with  her  shining  eyes ;  "  to-morrow  I  shall  be 
just  a  commonplace  mother  of  a  commonplace  son  ; 
but  to-night  I  am  queen,  and  you  are  the  crown 
prince  on  the  eve  of  coronation.  Oh,  Hickory 
Dickory,  I  am  such  a  happy  mother." 

Hickory  Dickory  !  It  was  her  child-name  for  him. 

49 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

She  had  not  often  used  it  of  late.  He  felt  that  she 
would  not  often  use  it  again.  He  was  much  moved 
by  her  dedication  of  him  to  his  new  life.  He  held 
her  close.  His  doubts  fled.  He  thought  no  more 
of  Eve  and  of  her  flaming  arguments.  Somewhere 
out  in  the  snow  her  rose  lay  frozen  and  faded  where 
he  had  dropped  it. 

And  when  he  slept  and  dreamed  it  was  of  a  little 
brown  bird  which  sang  in  the  snow,  and  the  song 
that  it  sang  seemed  to  leap  from  the  pages  of  a  Book, 
"  Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled ',  neither  let  it  be 
afraid" 


CHAPTER  IV 

In  Which  Three  Kings  Come  to  Crossroads. 

ANNE'S  budget  of  news  to  her  Great-uncle  Rod 
swelled  to  unusual  proportions  in  the  week  fol- 
lowing the  opening  of  Crossroads.     She  had  so  much 
to  say  to  him,  and  there  was  no  one  else  to  whom 
she  could  speak  with  such  freedom  and  frankness. 

By  the  Round  Stove. 
MY  DEAR  : 

I  am  sending  this  as  an  antidote  for  my  dole- 
ful Sunday  screed.  Now  that  the  Lovely  Ladies  are 
gone,  I  am  myself  again  ! 

I  know  that  you  are  saying,  "  You  should  never 
have  been  anything  but  yourself."  That's  all  very 
well  for  you  who  know  Me-Myself,  but  these  people 
know  only  the  Outside-Person  part  of  me,  and  the 
Outside-Person  part  is  stiff  and  old-fashioned,  and 
self-conscious.  You  see  it  has  been  so  many  months 
since  I  have  hobnobbed  with  Lities-of-the-Field  and 
with  Solomons-in-all-their-Glory.  And  even  when  I 
did  hobnob  with  them  it  was  for  such  a  little  time, 
and  it  ended  so  heart-breakingly.  But  I  am  not 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

going  to  talk  of  that,  or  I  shall  weep  and  wail  again, 
and  that  wouldn't  be  fair  to  you. 

The  last  Old  Gentleman  left  yesterday  in  the  wake 
of  the  Lovely  Ladies.  Did  I  tell  you  that  Brinsley 
Tyson  is  a  cousin  of  Mrs.  Brooks  ?  His  twin 
brother,  David,  lives  up  the  road.  Brinsley  is  the 
city  mouse  and  David  is  the  country  one.  They  are 
as  different  as  you  can  possibly  imagine.  Brinsley 
is  fat  and  round  and  red,  and  David  is  thin  and  tall 
and  pale.  Yet  there  is  the  "twin  look"  in  their 
faces.  The  high  noses  and  square  chins.  Neither 
of  them  wears  a  beard.  None  of  the  Old  Gentlemen 
does.  Why  is  it  ?  Is  hoary-headed  age  a  thing  of 
the  dark  and  distant  past?  Are  you  the  only  one 
left  whose  silver  banner  blows  in  the  breeze?  Are 
the  grandfathers  all  trying  to  look  like  boys  to 
match  the  grandmothers  who  try  to  look  like  girls  ? 

Mrs.  Brooks  won't  be  that  kind  of  grandmother. 
She  is  gentle  and  serene,  and  the  years  will  touch 
her  softly.  I  shall  like  her  if  she  will  let  me.  But 
perhaps  little  school-teachers  won't  come  within  her 
line  of  vision.  You  see  I  learned  my  lesson  in  those 
short  months  when  I  peeped  into  Paradise. 

I  wonder  how  it  would  seem  to  be  a  Lily-of-the- 
Field.  I've  never  been  one,  have  I  ?  Even  when  I 
was  a  little  girl  I  used  to  stand  on  a  chair  to  wipe 
the  dishes  while  you  washed  them.  I  felt  very  im- 
portant to  be  helping  mother,  and  you  would  talk 
about  the  dignity  of  labor — you  darling^  with  the  hot 

52 


THREE  KINGS 

water   wrinkling  and   reddening  your  lovely  long 
fingers,  which  were  made  to  paint  masterpieces. 

I  am  trying  to  pass  on  to  my  school  children  what 
you  have  given  to  me,  and  oh,  Uncle  Rod,  when  I 
speak  to  them  I  seem  to  be  looking  with  you,  straight 
through  the  kitchen  window,  at  the  sunset.  We 
never  knew  that  the  kitchen  sink  was  there,  did  we  ? 
We  saw  only  the  sunsets.  And  now  because  you 
are  a  darling  dear,  and  because  you  are  always  see- 
ing sunsets,  I  am  sending  you  a  verse  or  two  which 
I  have  copied  from  a  book  which  Geoffrey  Fox  left 
last  night  at  my  door. 

"  When  Salomon  sailed  from  Ophir, 

With  Olliphants  and  gold, 
The  kings  went  up,  the  kings  went  down, 
Trying  to  match  King  Salomon's  crown; 

But  Salomon  sacked  the  sunset, 
Wherever  his  black  ships  rolled. 
He  rolled  it  up  like  a  crimson  cloth, 
And  crammed  it  into  his  hold. 

CHORUS  :      "  Salomon  sacked  the  sunset, 
Salomon  sacked  the  sunset, 
He  rolled  it  up  like  a  crimson  cloth, 
And  crammed  it  into  his  hold. 

"  His  masts  were  Lebanon  cedars, 

His  sheets  were  singiwg  blue, 
But  that  was  never  the  reason  why 
He  stuffed  his  hold  with  the  sunset  sky ! 

The  kings  could  cut  their  cedars, 
And  sail  from  Ophir,  too ; 
But  Salomon  packed  his  heart  with  dreams, 
And  all  the  dreams  were  true." 

53 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

Now  join   in  the  chorus,  you  old  dear — and  I'll 
think  that   I  am  a  little  girl  again  — 


"  The  kings  could  cut  their  cedars, 
Cut  their  Lebanon  cedars; 
But  Salomon  packed  his  heart  with  dreams, 
And  all 

the  dreams 

were  true  /" 


In  the  Schoolroom. 

I  told  you  that  Geoffrey  Fox  left  a  book  for  me  to 
read.  I  told  you  that  he  wore  eye-glasses  on  a  black 
ribbon,  that  he  is  writing  a  novel,  and  that  I  don't 
like  him.  Well,  he  went  into  Baltimore  this  morn- 
ing to  get  his  belongings,  and  when  he  comes  back 
he  will  stay  until  his  book  is  finished.  It  will  be  in- 
teresting to  be  under  the  same  roof  with  a  story.  All 
the  shadows  and  corners  will  seem  full  of  it.  The 
house  will  speak  to  him,  and  the  people  in  it,  though 
none  of  the  rest  of  us  will  hear  the  voices,  and  the 
wind  will  speak  and  the  leaping  flames  in  the  fire- 
place, and  the  sun  and  the  moon — and  when  the 
snow  comes  it  will  whisper  secrets  in  his  ear  and 
presently  it  will  be  snowing  all  through  the  pages. 

It  snowed  this  morning,  and  from  my  desk  I  can 
see  young  Dr.  Brooks  shoveling  a  path  from  his 
front  porch.  He  and  his  mother  came  to  Crossroads 
yesterday,  and  they  have  been  very  busy  getting 
settled.  They  have  a  colored  maid,  Milly,  but  no 

54 


THREE  KINGS 

man,  and  young  Richard  does  all  of  the  outside 
work.  I  think  I  shall  like  him.  Don't  you  re- 
member how  as  a  little  girl  I  always  adored  the 
Lion-hearted  king?  I  always  think  of  him  when  I 
see  Dr.  Brooks.  He  isn't  handsome,  but  he  is  broad- 
shouldered  and  big  and  blond.  I  haven't  had  but 
one  chance  to  speak  to  him  since  he  and  his  mother 
left  Bower's.  Perhaps  I  shan't  have  many  chances 
to  speak  to  him.  But  a  cat  may  look  at  a  king  1 

I  am  all  alone  in  the  schoolroom.  The  children 
went  an  hour  ago.  Eric  and  Beulah  are  to  call  for 
me  on  their  way  home  from  town.  They  took 
Peggy  with  them.  Did  I  tell  you  that  Eric  is  fall- 
ing in  love  with  Beulah  ?  I  am  not  sure  whether  it 
is  the  best  thing  for  him,  but  I  am  sure  it  is  for  her. 
She  is  very  happy,  and  blushes  when  he  looks  at  her. 
He  is  finer  than  she,  and  bigger,  mentally  and  spir- 
itually. He  is  crude,  but  he  will  grow  as  so  many 
American  men  do  grow — and  there  are  dreams  in 
his  clear  blue  eyes.  And,  after  all,  it  is  the  dreams 
that  count — as  Salomon  discovered. 

Yet  it  may  be  that  Eric  will  bring  Beulah  up  to 
his  level.  She  is  an  honest  little  thing  and  good  and 
loving.  Her  life  is  narrow,  and  she  thinks  narrow 
thoughts.  But  he  is  wise  and  kind,  and  already  I 
can  see  that  she  is  trying  to  keep  step  with  him — 
which  is  as  it  should  be. 

I  like  to  think  that  father  and  mother  kept  step 
through  all  the  years.  She  was  his  equal,  his  com- 

55 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

rade;  she  marched  by  his  side  with  her  head  up, 
fitting  her  two  short  steps  to  his  long  stride. 

King  Richard  has  just  waved  to  me.  I  stood  up 
to  see  the  sunset — a  band  of  gold  with  black  above, 
and  he  waved,  and  started  to  run  across  the  road. 
Then  somebody  called  him  from  the  house.  Per- 
haps it  was  the  telephone  and  his  first  patient.  If 
I  am  ever  ill,  I  should  like  to  have  a  Lion-hearted 
Doctor — wouldn't  you  ? 

At  the  Sign  of  the  Lantern. 

I  am  with  Diogenes  in  the  stable,  with  the  lantern 
making  deep  shadows,  and  the  loft  steps  for  a  desk. 
Eric  and  Beulah  came  for  me  before  I  had  asked  a 
question — an  important  question — so  I  am  finishing 
my  letter  here,  while  Eric  puts  Daisy  in  her  stall, 
and  then  he  will  post  it  for  me. 

Diogenes  has  had  his  corn,  and  is  as  happy  as 
Brinsley  Tyson  after  a  good  dinner.  Oh,  such  eat- 
ing and  drinking!  How  these  old  men  love  it! 
And  you  with  your  bread  and  milk  and  your  book 
propped  up  against  the  lamp,  or  your  handful  of 
raisins  and  your  book  under  a  tree ! 

But  I  must  scribble  fast  and  ask  my  question.     It 
isn't  easy  to  ask.     So  I'll  put  it  in  sections: 
Do  you 

ever 

see 

Jimmie — Ford  ? 
56 


THREE  KINGS 

That  is  the  first  time  that  I  have  written  his  name 
since  I  came  here.  I  had  made  up  my  mind  that  I 
wouldn't  write  it.  But  somehow  the  rose-colored 
atmosphere  of  the  other  night,  and  these  men  of  his 
kind  have  brought  it  back — all  those  whirling  weeks 
when  you  warned  me  and  I  wouldn't  listen.  Uncle 
Rod,  if  a  woman  hadn't  an  ounce  of  pride  she  might 
meet  such  things.  If  I  had  not  had  a  grandmother 
as  good  as  Jimmie's  and  better — I  might  have  felt 
less — stricken.  Geoffrey  Fox  spoke  to  me  on  Satur- 
day in  a  way  which — hurt.  Perhaps  I  am  too  sensi- 
tive— but  I  haven't  quite  learned  to — hold  up  my 
head. 

You  mustn't  think  that  I  am  unhappy.  Indeed,  I 
am  not,  except  that  I  cannot  be  with  you.  But  it  is 
good  to  know  that  you  are  comfortable,  and  that 
Cousin  Margaret  is  making  it  seem  like  home. 
Some  day  we  are  to  have  a  home,  you  and  I,  when 
our  ship  comes  in  "with  the  sunset  packed  in  the 
hold."  But  now  it  is  well  that  I  have  work  to  do. 
I  know  that  this  is  my  opportunity,  and  that  I  must 
make  the  most  of  it.  There's  that  proverb  of  yours, 
"  The  Lord  sends  us  quail,  but  he  doesn't  send  them 
roasted."  I  have  written  it  out,  and  have  tucked  it 
into  my  mirror  frame.  I  shall  have  to  roast  my  own 
quail.  I  only  hope  that  I  may  prove  a  competent 
cook! 

Eric  is  here,  and  I  must  say  "  Good-bye."  Di- 
ogenes sends  love,  and  a  little  feather  that  dropped 

57 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

from  his  wing.  Some  day  he  will  send  a  big  one 
for  you  to  make  a  pen  and  write  letters  to  me.  I 
love  your  letters,  and  I  love  you.  And  oh,  you  know 
that  you  have  all  the  heart's  best  of  your  own 

ANNE. 

The  Morning  After  the  Magi  Came. 

I  am  up  early  to  tell  you  about  it.  But  I  must  go 
back  a  little  because  I  have  had  so  much  else  to  talk 
about  that  I  haven't  spoken  of  the  Twelfth  Night 
play. 

It  seems  that  years  ago,  when  old  Dr.  Brooks 
first  built  the  schoolhouse,  the  children  used  his 
stable  on  Twelfth  Night  for  a  spectacle  representing 
the  coming  of  the  Wise  Men. 

Mr.  David  had  told  me  of  it,  and  I  had  planned  to 
revive  the  old  custom  this  year,  and  had  rehearsed 
the  children.  I  thought  when  I  heard  that  the  house 
was  to  be  occupied  that  I  might  have  to  give  it 
up.  But  Peggy  and  I  plucked  up  our  courage  and 
asked  King  Richard,  and  he  graciously  gave  per- 
mission. 

It  was  a  heavenly  night.  Snow  on  the  ground 
and  all  the  stars  out.  The  children  met  in  the 
schoolhouse  and  we  started  in  a  procession.  They 
all  wore  simple  little  costumes,  just  some  bit  of 
bright  color  draped  to  give  them  a  quaint  pictur- 
esqueness.  One  of  the  boys  led  a  cow,  and  there 
was  an  old  ewe.  Then  riding  on  a  donkey,  bor- 

58 


THREE  KINGS 

rowed  by  Mr.  David,  came  the  oldest  Mary  in  our 
school.  I  chose  her  because  I  wanted  her  to  under- 
stand the  sacred  significance  of  her  name,  and  our 
only  little  Joseph  walked  by  her  side.  The  children 
followed  and  their  parents,  with  the  wise  men  quite 
in  the  rear,  so  that  they  might  enter  after  the 
others. 

When  we  reached  the  stable,  I  grouped  Joseph 
and  Mary  in  one  of  the  old  mangers,  where  the  Babe 
lay,  and  he  was  a  dear,  real,  baby  brother  of  Mary. 
I  hid  a  light  behind  the  straw,  so  that  the  place  was 
illumined.  And  then  my  little  wise  men  came  in ; 
and  the  children,  who  with  their  parents  were  seated 
on  the  hay  back  in  the  shadows,  sang,  "  We  Three 
Kings  "  and  other  carols.  The  gifts  which  the  Magi 
brought  were  the  children's  own  pennies  which  they 
are  giving  to  the  other  little  children  across  the  sea 
who  are  fatherless  because  of  the  war. 

It  was  quite  wonderful  to  hear  their  sweet  little 
voices,  and  to  see  their  rapt  faces  and  to  know  that, 
however  sordid  their  lives  might  be,  here  was 
Dream,  founded  on  the  Greatest  Truth,  which  would 
lift  them  above  the  sordidness. 

Dr.  Brooks  and  his  mother  and  Mr.  David  were 
not  far  from  me,  and  Dr.  Brooks  leaned  over  and 
asked  if  he  might  speak  to  the  children.  I  said  I 
should  be  glad,  so  he  stood  up  and  told  them  in 
such  simple,  fine  fashion  that  he  wanted  to  be  to 
them  all  that  his  grandfather  had  been  to  their  par- 

59 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

ents  and  grandparents.  He  wanted  them  to  feel 
that  his  life  and  service  belonged  to  them.  He 
wanted  them  to  know  how  pleased  he  was  with  the 
Twelfth  Night  spectacle,  and  that  he  wanted  it  to 
become  an  annual  custom. 

Then  in  his  mother's  name,  he  asked  them  to 
come  up  to  the  house — all  of  them — and  we  were 
shown  into  the  Garden  Room  which  opens  out  upon 
what  was  once  a  terraced  garden,  and  there  was  a 
great  cake  with  candles,  and  sandwiches,  and 
coffee  for  the  grown-ups  and  hot  chocolate  for  the 
kiddies. 

Wasn't  that  dear?  I  had  little  Francois  thank 
them,  and  he  did  it  so  well.  Why  is  it  that  these 
small  foreigners  lack  the  self-consciousness  of  our 
own  boys  and  girls  ?  He  had  been  one  of  the  wise 
men  in  the  spectacle,  and  he  still  wore  his  white 
beard  and  turban  and  his  long  blue  and  red  robes. 
Yet  he  wasn't  in  the  least  fussed  ;  he  simply  made  a 
bow,  said  what  he  had  to  say,  made  another  bow, 
with  never  a  blush  or  a  quaver  or  giggle.  His 
mother  was  there,  and  she  was  so  happy — she  is  a 
widow,  and  sews  in  the  neighborhood,  plain  sewing, 
and  they  are  very  poor. 

I  rode  home  with  the  Bowers,  and  as  we  drove 
along,  I  heard  the  children  singing.  I  am  sure  they 
will  never  forget  the  night  under  the  winter  stars, 
nor  the  scene  in  the  stable  with  the  cow  and  the 
little  donkey  and  the  old  ewe,  and  the  Light  that  il- 

60 


THREE  KINGS 

lumined   the  manger.     I  want  them  always  to  re- 
member, Uncle  Rod,  and  I  want  to  remember.     It 
is  only  when  I  forget  that  I  lose  faith  and  hope. 
Blessed  dear,  good-night. 

YOUR  ANNE. 


6l 


CHAPTER  V 

In  Which  Peggy  Takes  the  Center  of  the  Stage. 


bell  on  the  schoolhouse  had  a  challenging 
note.  It  seemed  to  call  to  the  distant  hills, 
and  the  echo  came  back  in  answer.  It  was  the  voice 
of  civilization.  "  I  am  here  that  you  may  learn  of 
other  hills  and  of  other  valleys,  of  men  who  have 
dreamed  and  of  men  who  have  discovered,  of  na- 
tions which  have  conquered  and  of  nations  which 
have  fallen  into  decay.  I  am  here  that  you  may 
learn  —  ding  dong  —  that  you  may  learn,  ding  ding  — 
that  you  may  learn  —  ding  dong  ding  —  of  Life." 

As  she  rang  the  bell,  Anne  had  always  a  feeling  of 
exhilaration.  Its  message  was  clear  to  her.  She 
hoped  it  would  be  clear  to  others.  She  tried  at  least 
to  make  it  clear  to  her  children. 

And  now  they  came  streaming  over  the  country- 
side, big  boys  with  their  little  sisters  beside  them, 
big  girls  with  their  little  brothers.  Some  on  sleds 
and  some  sliding.  All  rosy-cheeked  with  the  cold- 
ness of  the  morning. 

As  they  filed  in,  Anne  stood  behind  her  desk. 
They  had  opening  exercises,  and  then  the  work  of 
the  day  began, 

62 


PEGGT  TAKES  THE  STAGE 

It  began  scrappily.  Nobody  had  their  minds 
upon  it.  The  children  were  much  excited  over  the 
events  of  the  preceding  night — over  the  play  and 
the  feast  which  had  followed. 

Anne,  too,  was  excited.  On  the  way  to  school  she 
had  met  Richard,  and  he  had  joined  her  and  had 
told  her  of  his  first  patient. 

"  I  had  to  walk  at  one  o'clock  in  the  morning.  I 
must  get  a  horse  or  a  car.  I  am  not  quite  sure  that 
I  ought  to  afford  a  car.  And  I  like  the  idea  of  a 
horse.  My  grandfather  rode  a  horse." 

"  Are  you  going  to  do  all  the  things  that  your 
grandfather  did  ?  " 

He  was  aware  of  her  quick  smile.  He  smiled 
back. 

"Perhaps.  I  might  do  worse.  He  made  great 
cures  with  his  calomel  and  his  catnip  tea." 

"  Did  you  cure  your  patient  with  catnip  tea?" 

"Last  night?  No.  It  was  a  child.  Measles.  I 
told  the  rest  of  the  family  to  stay  away  from  school." 

"  It  is  probably  too  late.     They  will  all  have  them." 

"Have  you?" 

"  No.     I  am  never  sick." 

Her  good  health  seemed  to  him  another  goddess 
attribute.  Goddesses  were  never  ill.  They  lived 
eternally  with  lovely  smiles. 

He  felt  this  morning  that  the  world  was  his.  He 
had  been  called  up  the  night  before  by  a  man  in 
whose  household  there  had  been  a  tradition  of  the 

63 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

skill  of  Richard's  grandfather.  There  had  been  the 
memory,  too,  in  the  minds  of  the  older  ones  of  the 
days  when  that  other  doctor  had  thundered  up  the 
road  to  succor  and  to  save.  It  was  a  proud  moment 
in  their  lives  when  they  gave  to  Richard  Tyson's 
grandson  his  first  patient.  They  felt  that  Providence 
in  sending  sickness  upon  them  had  imposed  not  a 
penance  but  a  privilege. 

Richard  had  known  of  their  pride  and  had  been 
touched  by  it,  and  with  the  glow  of  their  gratitude 
still  upon  him,  he  had  trudged  down  the  snowy  road 
and  had  met  Anne  Warfield  ! 

"  You'd  better  let  me  come  and  look  over  your 
pupils,"  he  had  said  to  her  as  they  parted ;  "  we 
don't  want  an  epidemic !  " 

He  was  to  come  at  the  noon  recess.  Anne,  antici- 
pating his  visit,  was  quite  thrillingly  emphatic  in  her 
history  lesson.  Not  that  history  had  anything  to  do 
with  measles,  but  she  felt  fired  by  his  example  to  do 
her  best. 

She  loved  to  teach  history,  and  she  had  a  lesson 
not  only  for  her  children,  but  for  herself.  She  was 
much  ashamed  of  her  mood  of  Sunday.  It  had  been 
easy  enough  this  morning  to  talk  to  Richard ;  and 
with  Evelyn  away,  clothes  had  seemed  to  sink  to  their 
proper  significance.  And  if  she  had  waited  on  the 
table  she  had  at  least  done  it  well. 

Her  exposition  gained  emphasis,  therefore,  from 
her  state  of  mind. 

64 


PEGGT  TAKES  THE  STAGE 

"  In  this  beautiful  land  of  ours,"  she  said,  "  all 
men  are  free — and  equal.  You  mustn't  think  this 
means  that  all  of  you  will  have  the  same  amount  of 
money  or  the  same  kind  of  clothes,  or  the  same 
things  to  eat,  or  even  the  same  kind  of  minds.  But 
I  think  it  means  that  you  ought  all  to  have  the  same 
kind  of  consciences.  You  ought  to  be  equal  in  right 
doing.  And  in  love  of  country.  You  ought  to  know 
when  war  is  righteous,  and  when  peace  is  righteous. 
And  you  can  all  be  equal  in  this,  that  no  man  can 
make  you  lie  or  steal  or  be  a  coward." 

Thus  she  inspired  them.  Thus  she  saw  them 
thrill  as  she  had  herself  been  thrilled.  And  that  was 
her  reward.  For  in  her  school  were  not  only  the 
little  Johns  and  the  little  Thomases  and  the  little 
Richards — she  found  herself  quite  suddenly  under- 
standing why  there  were  so  many  Richards — there 
were  also  the  little  Ottos  and  the  little  Ulrics  and  the 
little  Wilhelms,  and  there  was  Frangois,  whose  mother 
went  out  to  sew  by  the  day,  and  there  were  Raphael 
and  Alessandro  and  Simon.  Out  from  the  big  cities 
had  come  the  parents  of  these  children,  seeking  the 
land,  usurping  the  places  of  the  old  American  stock, 
doing  what  had  been  left  undone  in  the  way  of  sow- 
ing and  planting  and  reaping,  making  the  little 
gardens  yield  as  they  had  never  yielded,  even  in 
those  wonder  days  before  the  war. 

It  was  Anne  Warfield's  task  to  train  the  children 
of  the  newcomers  to  the  American  ideal.  With  the 

65 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

blood  in  her  of  statesmen  and  of  soldiers  it  was 
given  to  her  to  pass  on  the  tradition  of  good  citizen- 
ship. She  was,  indeed,  a  torch-bearer,  lighting  the 
way  to  love  of  country.  Yet  for  a  little  while  she 
had  forgotten  it. 

She  had  cried  because  she  could  not  wear  rose- 
color  ! 

But  now  her  head  was  high  again,  and  when 
Richard  came  she  showed  him  her  school,  and  he 
shook  hands  first  with  the  little  girls  and  then  with 
the  little  boys,  and  he  looked  down  their  throats,  and 
asked  them  questions,  and  joked  and  prodded  and 
took  their  temperature,  and  he  did  it  all  in  such  happy 
fashion  that  not  even  the  littlest  one  was  afraid. 

And  when  Richard  was  ready  to  go,  he  said  to 
her,  "  I'll  look  after  their  bodies  if  you'll  look  after 
their  minds,"  and  as  she  watched  him  walk  away, 
she  had  a  tingling  sense  that  they  had  formed  a  com- 
pact which  had  to  do  with  things  above  and  beyond 
the  commonplace. 

It  began  to  snow  in  the  afternoon,  and  it  was 
snowing  hard  when  the  school  day  ended.  Eric 
Brand  came  for  Anne  and  Peggy  in  the  funny  little 
station  carriage  which  was  kept  at  Bower's.  Eric 
and  Anne  sat  on  the  front  seat  with  Peggy  between 
them.  The  fat  mare,  Daisy,  jogged  placidly  along 
the  still  white  road.  There  was  a  top  to  the  carriage, 
but  the  snow  sifted  in,  so  Anne  wrapped  Peggy  in 
an  old  shawl. 

66 


PEGGT  TAKES  THE  STAGE 

"  I  don't  need  anything,"  she  said,  when  Eric 
offered  her  a  heavier  covering.  "  I  love  it — like 
this " 

Eric  Brand  was  big  and  blond  and  somewhat 
slow  in  his  movements.  But  he  had  brains  and  held 
the  position  of  telegraph  operator  at  Bovver's  Station. 
He  had,  too,  a  heart  of  romance.  The  day  before 
he  had  seen  Evelyn  toss  the  rose  to  Richard,  and  he 
had  found  it  later  where  Richard  had  dropped  it. 
He  had  picked  it  up,  and  had  put  it  in  water.  It 
had  seemed  to  him  that  the  flower  must  feel  the 
slight  which  had  been  put  upon  it. 

He  spoke  now  to  Anne  of  Richard.  "  They  say 
he  is  a  good  doctor." 

"  I  can't  see  why  he  came  here." 

"  His  mother  wanted  him  to  come.  She  hates  the 
city.  She  went  there  as  a  bride.  Her  husband  was 
rich,  but  he  was  always  speculating.  Sometimes 
they  were  so  poor  that  she  had  to  do  her  own  work, 
and  sometimes  they  had  a  half  dozen  servants.  But 
they  never  had  a  home.  And  then  all  at  once  he 
lost  other  people's  money  as  well  as  his  own — and 
he  killed  himself " 

She  turned  on  him  her  startled  eyes.  "  Richard's 
father?" 

"  Yes.  And  after  that  young  Brooks  decided  that 
as  soon  as  he  finished  his  medical  course  he  would 
come  here.  He  thinks  that  he  came  because  he 
wanted  to  come,  But  he  won't  stay." 

67 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

"Why  not?" 

"  You  saw  his  friends.  And  the  women.  Some 
day  he'll  go  back  and  marry  that  girl " 

"  Evelyn  Chesley  ?  " 

"  Is  that  her  name  ?  She  threw  him  a  rose  ; "  he 
forgot  to  tell  her  that  he  had  seen  it  fade. 

They  had  reached  the  stable  garage.  Diogenes 
welcomed  them  from  his  warm  corner.  The  old  dog 
Mamie  who  had  followed  the  carriage  shook  the 
snow  from  her  coat  and  flopped  down  on  the  floor 
to  rest.  The  little  horse  Daisy  steamed  and  whin- 
nied. It  was  a  homely  scene  of  sheltered  creatures 
in  comfortable  quarters.  Anne  knelt  down  by  the 
old  drake,  and  he  bent  his  head  under  her  caressing 
hand.  Her  face  was  grave.  Eric,  watching  her, 
asked :  "  Has  it  been  a  hard  day  ?  " 

"  No  ;  "  but  she  found  herself  suddenly  tired. 

She  went  in  with  Eric  presently.  They  had  a 
good  hot  supper,  and  Anne  was  hungry.  Gathered 
around  the  table  were  Peter  and  his  wife,  Beulah 
and  Eric,  with  Peggy  rounding  out  the  half  dozen. 
Geoffrey  Fox  had  gone  to  town  to  get  his  belongings. 

Anne  had  a  vision  of  Richard  and  his  mother  in  the 
big  house.  At  their  table  would  be  lovely  linen  and 
shining  silver,  and  some  little  formality  of  service. 
She  felt  that  she  belonged  to  people  like  that.  She 
had  nothing  in  common  with  Peter  and  his  wife  and 
with  Eric  Brand.  Nor  with  Beulah. 

Beulah  was  planning  a  little  party  for  the  evening. 

68 


PEGOT  TAKES  THE  STAGB 

There  was  to  have  been  skating,  but  the  warmer 
weather  and  the  snow  had  made  that  impossible. 

"  I  don't  know  just  what  I'll  do  with  them,"  she 
said  ;  "  we  might  have  games." 

"  Anne  knows  a  lot  of  things."  This  from  Peggy, 
who  was  busy  with  her  bread  and  milk. 

"What  things?" 

"Oh,  dancing " 

Anne  flushed.     "  Peggy  ! " 

"  But   we    do.     We   make   bows   like   this " 

Peggy  slid  out  of  her  chair  and  bobbed  for  them — a 
most  entrancing  little  curtsey,  with  all  her  curls 
flying. 

"  And  the  boys  do  this."  She  was  quite  stiff  as  she 
showed  them  how  the  little  boys  bowed. 

Anne  seemed  to  feel  some  need  of  defense. 
"  Well,  they  must  learn  manners." 

Peggy,  wound  up,  would  not  be  interrupted.  "  We 
dance  like  this,"  and  away  she  went  in  a  mad  gallop. 

Anne  laughed.  "  It  warms  their  blood  when  the 
fire  won't  burn.  Peggy,  it  isn't  quite  as  bad  as  that. 
Show  them  nicely." 

So  Peggy  showed  them  some  pretty  steps,  and 
then  came  back  to  her  bread  and  milk. 

"  We  might  dance."  Beulah's  mind  was  on  her 
party.  "  But  some  of  them  don't  know  how." 

Anne  offered  no  suggestions.  She  really  might 
have  helped  if  she  had  cared  to  do  it.  But  she  did 
not  care. 

69 


MISTRESS 

When  she  had  finished  supper,  Eric  followed  her 
into  the  hall.  "  You'll  come  down,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  sure." 

"  Beulah  would  like  it  if  you  would." 

"  I  have  a  lot  of  things  to  do." 

"  Let  them  go.  You  can  always  work.  When 
you  hear  the  fire  roaring  up  the  chimney,  you  will 
know  that  it  is  calling  to  you,  '  Come  down,  come 
down ! ' " 

He  stood  and  watched  her  as  she  climbed  the  stairs. 
Then  he  went  back  and  helped  Beulah. 

Beulah  was  really  very  pretty,  and  to-night  her 
cheeks  were  pink  as  she  made  her  little  plans  with 
him. 

He  gave  himself  pleasantly  to  her  guidance.  He 
moved  the  furniture  for  her  into  the  big  front  room, 
so  that  there  would  be  a  space  for  dancing.  And 
presently  it  became  not  a  sanctum  for  staid  Old 
Gentlemen,  but  a  gathering  place  for  youth  and  joy. 

Eric  made  his  rounds  before  the  company  came. 
He  looked  after  the  dogs  in  the  kennels  and  at 
Daisy  in  her  stall.  He  flashed  his  lantern  into  Di- 
ogenes' dark  corner  and  saw  the  old  drake  at  rest. 

The  snow  was  whirling  in  a  blinding  storm  when 
at  last  he  staggered  in  with  a  great  log  for  the  fire, 
and  with  a  basket  of  cones  to  make  the  air  sweet. 
And  it  was  as  he  knelt  to  put  the  cones  on  the  fire 
that  Anne  came  in  and  stood  beside  him. 

She  had  swept  up  her  hair  in  the  new  way  from 

70 


PEGGT  TAKES  THE  STAGE 

her  forehead.  She  wore  white  silk  stockings  and 
little  flat-heeled  black  slippers,  and  a  flounced  white 
frock.  She  was  not  in  the  least  in  fashion,  but  she 
was  quaintly  childish  and  altogether  lovely. 

The  big  man  looked  up  at  her.  "  You  look  nice 
in  that  dress." 

She  smiled  down  at  him.  "  I'm  glad  you  like  it, 
Eric." 

When  the  young  belles  and  beauties  of  the  country- 
side came  in  later,  Anne  found  herself  quite  eclipsed 
by  their  blooming  charms.  The  young  men,  know- 
ing her  as  the  school-teacher,  were  afraid  of  her 
brains.  They  talked  to  her  stiffly,  and  left  her  as 
soon  as  possible  for  the  easier  society  of  girls  of 
their  own  kind.  Peggy  sat  with  Anne  on  the  big 
settle  beside  the  fire.  The  child's  hand  was  hot,  and 
she  seemed  sleepy. 

"  My  eyes  hurt,"  she  said,  crossly. 

"  You  ought  to  be  in  bed,  Peggy;  shall  I  take  you?" 

"  No.  There's  going  to  be  an  oyster  stew. 
Daddy  said  I  might  sit  up." 

Beulah  in  pink  and  very  important  came  over  to 
them.  "Could  you  show  us  some  of  the  dances^ 
Anne?" 

"  Oh,  Beulah,  can't  they  play  games  ?  " 

"  I  think  you  might  help  us."  Beulah's  tone  was 
slightly  petulant. 

Anne  stood  up.  "  There's  a  march  I  taught  the 
children.  We  could  begin  with  that." 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

She  led  the  march  with  Eric.  Behind  her  was  the 
loud  laughter  of  the  brawny  young  men,  the  loud 
laughter  of  the  blooming  young  women.  Their 
merriment  sounded  a  different  note  from  that  struck 
by  the  genial  Old  Gentlemen  or  by  the  gay  group  of 
young  folk  from  New  York.  What  was  the  differ- 
ence ?  Training  ?  Birth  ? 

Anne  felt  suddenly  much  alone.  She  had  not  be- 
longed to  Evelyn  Chesley's  crowd,  she  did  not  be- 
long with  Beulah's  friends.  She  wondered  if  she 
really  belonged  anywhere. 

Yet  as  her  mind  went  over  and  over  these  things, 
her  little  slippered  feet  led  the  march.  Eric  was  not 
awkward,  and  he  fell  easily  into  the  step. 

"How  nicely  we  do  it  together,"  he  said,  and 
beamed  down  on  her,  and  because  her  heart  was 
really  a  kind  little  heart  and  a  womanly  one,  she 
smiled  up  at  him  and  tried  to  be  as  fine  and  friendly 
as  she  would  have  wanted  her  children  to  be. 

After  the  dance,  the  young  folks  played  old-fash- 
ioned games — "  Going  to  Jerusalem  "  and  "  Post 
Office."  Anne  fled  to  the  settle  when  the  last  game 
was  announced.  Peggy  was  moping  among  the 
cushions. 

"  Let  me  take  you  up  to  bed,  dearie." 

"  No,  I  won't.     I  want  to  stay  here." 

The  fun  was  fast  and  furious.  Anne  had  a  little 
shivery  feeling  as  she  watched  the  girls  go  out  into 
the  hall  and  come  back  blushing.  How  could  they 

72 


PEGGT  TAKES  THE  STAGE 

give  so  lightly  what  seemed  to  her  so  sacred?  A 
woman's  lips  were  for  her  lover. 

She  sat  very  still  among  the  cushions.  The  fire 
roared  up  the  chimney.  Outside  the  wind  blew; 
far  away  in  the  distance  a  dog  barked. 

The  barking  dog  was  young  Toby.  At  the 
heels  of  his  master  he  was  headed  straight  for 
the  long  low  house  and  the  grateful  shelter  of  its 
warmth. 

Richard  stood  for  a  moment  on  the  porch,  looking 
in  through  the  lighted  window.  A  romping  game 
was  in  full  progress.  This  time  it  was  "  Drop  the 
Handkerchief"  and  a  plump  and  pretty  girl  was 
having  a  tussle  with  her  captor.  Everybody  was 
shouting,  clapping.  Everybody?  On  an  old  settle 
by  the  fire  sat  a  slim  girl  in  a  white  gown.  Peggy 
lay  in  the  curve  of  her  arm,  and  she  was  looking 
down  at  Peggy. 

Richard  laughed  a  big  laugh.  He  could  not  have 
told  why  he  laughed,  but  he  flung  the  door  open 
and  stood  there  radiant. 

"  May  I  come  in  ?  "  he  demanded  of  Beulah,  "  or 
will  I  break  up  your  party  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Dr.  Brooks,  as  if  you  could.  We  are  so 
glad  to  have  you." 

"  I  had  a  sick  call,  and  we  are  half  frozen,  Toby 
and  I,  and  we  saw  the  lights " 

Now  the  best  place  for  a  half-frozen  man  is  by  the 
fire,  and  the  best  place  for  an  anxious  and  shivering 

73 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

dog  is  in  a  warm  chimney  corner,  so  in  a  moment 
the  young  dog  Toby  was  where  he  could  thaw  out 
in  a  luxurious  content,  and  Richard  was  on  the  settle 
beside  Anne,  and  was  saying,  "  Isn't  this  great?  Do 
you  think  I  ought  to  stay  ?  I'm  not  really  invited, 
you  know." 

"  There's  never  any  formality.  Everybody  just 
comes." 

"  I  like  your  frock,"  he  said  suddenly.  "  You  re- 
mind me  of  a  little  porcelain  figure  I  saw  in  a  Fifth 
Avenue  window  not  long  ago." 

"  Tell  me  about  it,"  she  said  with  eagerness. 

"  About  what  ?  " 

"  New  York  and  the  shops.  Oh,  I  saw  them  once. 
They  were  like — Heaven." 

She  laughed  up  at  him  as  she  said  it,  and  he 
laughed  back. 

"  You'd  get  tired  of  them  if  you  lived  there." 

"  I  should  never  get  tired.  And  if  I  had  money 
I'd  go  on  in  and  try  on  everything.  I  saw  a  picture 
of  a  gown  I'd  like — all  silver  spangles  with  a  pointed 
train.  Do  you  know  I've  never  worn  a  train  ?  I 
should  like  one — and  a  big  fan  with  feathers." 

He  shook  his  head.  "  Trains  wouldn't  suit  your 
style.  Nor  big  fans.  You  ought  to  have  a  little 
fan — of  sandal  wood,  with  a  purple  and  green  tassel 
and  smelling  sweet.  Mother  says  that  her  mother 
carried  a  fan  like  that  at  a  White  House  ball." 

"  I've  never  been  to  a  ball." 

74 


PEGGT  TAKES  THE  STAGE 

"  Well,  you  needn't  want  to  go.  It's  a  cram  and 
a  jam  and  everybody  bored  to  death." 

"  I  shouldn't  be  bored.     I  should  love  it." 

His  eyes  were  on  the  fire.  And  presently  he  said, 
"  It  seems  queer  to  be  away  from  it — New  York. 
There's  something  about  it  that  gets  into  your  blood. 
You  want  it — as  you  do — drink." 

"  Then  you'll  be  going  back." 

He  jerked  around  to  look  at  her.  "  No,"  sharply  ; 
"  what  makes  you  say  that?  " 

"  Because — it — it  doesn't  seem  possible  that  you 
could  be — buried — here." 

"  Do  you  feel  buried  ?  " 

She  nodded.    "  Oh,  yes." 

His  face  was  grave.  "  And  doesn't  the  school 
work — help  ?  " 

She  caught  her  breath.  "  That's  the  best  part  of 
it.  You  see  I  love — the  children." 

He  flashed  a  quick  glance  at  her.  "  Then  you're 
lonely  sometimes  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  fancy  these  people  aren't  exactly — your  kind. 
I  wish  you'd  come  and  see  my  mother.  She's  aw- 
fully worth  while,  you  know.  And  she'd  be  so  glad 
to  have  you." 

She  found  herself  saying,  "  My  grandmother  was 
Cynthia  Warfield.  She  knew  your  grandfather.  I 
have  some  old  letters.  I  think  your  mother  might 
like  to  see  them." 

75 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

"  No  wonder  I've  been  puzzling  over  you  1  Cyn- 
thia Warfield's  portrait  hangs  in  our  library.  And 
you're  like  your  grandmother.  Only  you're  young 
and — alive." 

Again  his  ringing  laugh  and  her  own  to  meet  it. 
She  felt  so  young  and  happy.  So  very,  very  young, 
and  so  very,  very  happy  1 

Mrs.  Bower,  appearing  importantly,  announced 
supper.  Beyond  the  hall,  through  the  open  door  of 
the  dining-room  they  could  see  the  loaded  table 
with  the  tureens  of  steaming  oysters  at  each  end. 

There  was  at  once  a  rollicking  stampede. 

Anne  leaned  down  to  wake  Peggy.  The  child 
opened  her  heavy  eyes,  and  murmured :  "  I  want 
a  drink." 

Richard  glanced  at  her.  "  Hello,  hello,"  he  said, 
quickly.  "  What's  the  matter,  Pussy  ?  " 

"I'm  not  Pussy — I'm  Peggy."  The  child  was 
ready  for  tears. 

He  picked  her  up  in  his  arms  and  carried  her  to 
the  light.  With  careful  ringer  he  lifted  the  heavy 
eyelids  and  touched  the  hot  little  cheeks.  "  How 
long  has  she  been  this  way  ?  "  he  asked  Anne. 

"Just  since  supper.  Is  there  anything  the  matter 
with  her  ?  Is  she  really  sick,  Dr.  Brooks  ?  " 

"  Measles,"  he  said  succinctly.  "  You'd  better  get 
her  straight  to  bed." 


CHAPTER  VI 

In  Which  a  Gray  Plush  Pussy  Cat  Supplies  a  Theme. 

ANNE  at  the  top  of  the  stairs  talked  to  Geoffrey 
Fox  at  the  foot. 

"  But  you  really  ought  not  to  stay." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  if  you  haven't  had  the  measles  you 
might  get  them,  and,  besides,  poor  Mrs.  Bower  is  so 
busy." 

"  Why  not  tell  me  the  truth  ?  You  don't  want 
me  to  stay." 

"  What  difference  can  it  possibly  make  to  me  ?  " 

"  It  may  make  a  great  difference,"  Geoffrey  said, 
quietly,  "  whether  I  go  or  stay,  but  we  won't  talk  of 
that.  I  am  here.  All  my  traps,  bag  and  baggage, 
typewriter  and  trunks — books  and  bathrobe — and 
yet  you  want  to  send  me  away." 

"  I  haven't  anything  to  do  with  it.  But  the  house 
is  closed  to  every  one." 

"  And  everything  smells  of  antiseptics.  I  rather 
like  that.  I  spent  six  weeks  in  a  hospital  once.  I 
had  a  nervous  breakdown,  and  the  quiet  was 
heavenly,  and  all  the  nurses  were  angels." 

77 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

She  would  not  smile.  "  Of  course  if  you  will 
stay,"  she  said,  "  you  must  take  things  as  they 
come.  Mrs.  Bower  will  send  your  meals  up  to  you. 
She  won't  have  time  to  set  a  company  table." 

"  I'm  not  company  ;  let  me  eat  with  the  rest  of 
you." 

She  hesitated.  "  You  wouldn't  like  it.  I  don't 
like  it.  There's  no  service,  you  see — we  all  just 
help  ourselves." 

"  I  can  help  myself." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  It  will  be  easier  for  Mrs. 
Bower  to  bring  it  up." 

He  climbed  three  steps  and  stopped.  "  Are  you 
going  to  do  all  the  nursing?" 

"  I  shall  do  some  of  it.  Peggy  is  really  ill.  There 
are  complications.  And  Mrs.  Bower  and  Beulah 
have  so  much  to  do.  We  shall  have  to  close  the 
school.  Dr.  Brooks  wants  to  save  as  many  as  pos- 
sible from  having  it." 

"  So  Brooks  is  handling  Peggy's  case." 

"  Of  course.     Peter  Bower  knew  his  grandfather." 

"Well,  it  is  something  to  have  a  grandfather. 
And  to  follow  in  his  footsteps." 

But  her  mind  was  not  on  grandfathers.  "  Dr. 
Brooks  will  be  here  in  an  hour  and  I  must  get 
Peggy's  room  ready.  And  will  you  please  look 
after  yourself  for  a  little  while  ?  Eric  will  attend  to 
your  trunks." 

It  took  Geoffrey  all  the  morning  to  settle.  He 

78 


A  PLUSH  PUSST  CAT 

heard  Richard  come  and  go.     At  noon  Anne  brought 
up  his  tray. 

Opening  the  door  to  her  knock,  he  protested. 
"You  shouldn't  have  done  it." 

"Why  not?  It  is  all  in  the  day's  work.  And  I 
am  not  going  to  be  silly  about  it  any  more." 

"  You  were  never  silly  about  it." 

"  Yes,  I  was.  But  I  have  worked  it  all  out  in  my 
mind.  My  bringing  up  the  tray  to  you  won't  make 
me  any  less  than  I  am  or  any  more.  It  is  the  way 
we  feel  about  ourselves  that  counts — not  what  other 
people  think  of  us." 

"  So  you  don't  care  what  I  think  of  you  ?  " 

"  No,  not  if  I  am  doing  the  things  I  think  are 
right." 

"  And  you  don't  care  what  Richard  Brooks 
thinks?" 

The  color  mounted.     "  No,"  steadily. 

"  Nor  Miss  Chesley  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not." 

"  Not  of  course.  You  do  care.  You'd  hate  it  if 
you  thought  they'd  criticize.  And  you'd  cry  after 
you  went  to  bed." 

She  felt  that  such  clairvoyance  was  uncanny.  "  I 
wouldn't  cry." 

"  Well,  you'd  feel  like  it." 

"  Please  don't  talk  about  me  in  that  way.  It  really 
doesn't  make  any  difference  how  I  feel,  does  it? 
And  your  lunch  is  getting  cold." 

79 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

41  What  made  you  bring  it?  Why  didn't  you  let 
Mrs.  Bower  or  Beulah?" 

"  Mrs.  Bower  is  lying  down,  and  Beulah  has  been 
ironing  all  the  morning." 

"The  next  time  call  me,  and  I'll  wait  upon  my- 
self." 

"  Perhaps  I  shall."  She  surveyed  his  tray.  "  I've 
forgotten  the  cream  for  your  coffee." 

"  I  don't  take  cream.  Oh,  please  don't  go.  I 
want  you  to  see  my  books  and  my  other  belong- 
ings." 

He  had  brought  dozens  of  books,  a  few  pic- 
tures, a  little  gilded  Chinese  god,  a  bronze  bust  of 
Napoleon. 

"  Everything  has  a  reason  for  being  dragged 
around  with  me.  That  etching  of  Helleu's  is  like 
my  little  sister,  Mimi,  who  is  at  school  in  a  convent, 
and  who  constitutes  my  whole  family.  The  gilded 
Chinese  god  is  a  mascot — the  Napoleon  intrigues 
the  imagination." 

"  Do  you  think  so  much  of  Napoleon  ? "  coldly. 
"  He  was  a  little  great  man.  I'd  rather  talk  to  my 
children  of  George  Washington." 

"  You  women  have  a  grudge  against  him  because 
of  Josephine." 

"Yes.  He  killed  something  in  himself  when  he 
put  her  from  him.  And  the  world  knew  it,  and  his 
downfall  began.  He  forgot  that  love  is  the  greatest 
thing  in  the  world." 

80 


A  PLUSH  PUSST  CAT 

How  lovely  she  was,  all  fire  and  feeling ! 

"Jove,"  he  said,  staring,  "if  you  could  write, 
you'd  make  people  sit  up  and  listen.  You've  kept 
your  dreams.  That's  what  the  world  wants — the 
stuff  that  dreams  are  made  of.  And  most  of  us 
have  lost  ours  by  the  time  we  know  how  to  put 
things  on  paper." 

For  days  the  sound  of  Geoffrey's  typewriter  could 
be  heard  in  the  hall.  "  Does  it  disturb  Peggy  ?"  he 
asked  Anne  late  one  night  as  he  met  her  on  the  stairs. 

"  No ;  her  room  is  too  far  away.  You  were  so 
good  to  send  her  the  lovely  toys.  She  adores  the 
plush  pussy  cat." 

"  I  like  cats.  They  are  coy — and  caressing.  Dogs 
are  too  frankly  adoring." 

"  The  eternal  masculine."  She  smiled  at  him. 
"  Is  your  work  coming  on  ?  " 

"  I  have  a  first  chapter.      May  I  read  it  to  you  ?  " 

"  Please — I  should  love  it." 

She  was  glad  to  sit  quietly  by  the  big  fireplace. 
With  eyes  half-closed,  she  listened  to  the  opening 
sentences.  But  as  he  proceeded,  her  listlessness 
vanished.  And  when  he  laid  down  the  manuscript 
she  was  leaning  forward,  her  slim  hands  clasped 
tensely  on  her  knees,  her  eyes  wide  with  interest. 

"  Oh,  oh,"  she  told  him,  "  how  do  you  know  it  all 
— how  can  you  make  them  live  and  breathe — like 
that  ?  " 

81 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

For  a  moment  he  did  not  answer,  then  he  said, 
"  I  don't  know  how  I  do  it.  No  artist  knows  how 
he  creates.  It  is  like  Life  and  Death — and  other 
miracles.  If  I  could  keep  to  this  pace,  I'd  have  a 
masterpiece.  But  I  shan't  keep  to  it." 

"Why  not?" 

"  I  never  do." 

"  But  this  time — with  such  a  beginning." 

"  Will  you  be  my  critic,  Mistress  Anne  ?  Let  me 
read  to  you  now  and  then — like  this?" 

"  I  am  afraid  I  should  spoil  you  with  praise.  It 
all  seems  so — wonderful." 

"  You  can't  spoil  me,  and  I  like  to  be  wonderful." 

In  spite  of  his  egotism,  she  found  herself  modify- 
ing her  first  unfavorable  estimate  of  him.  His  quick 
eager  speech,  his  mobile  mouth,  his  mop  of  dark 
hair,  his  white  restless  hands,  his  long-lashed  near- 
sighted eyes,  these  contributed  a  personality  which 
had  in  it  nothing  commonplace  or  conventional. 

For  three  nights  he  read  to  her.  On  the  fourth  he 
had  nothing  to  read.  "  It  is  the  same  old  story,"  he 
burst  out  passionately.  "I  see  mountain  peaks, 
then,  suddenly,  darkness  falls  and  my  brain  is 
blank." 

"  Wait  a  little,"  she  told  him  ;  "  it  will  come  back." 

"  But  it  never  comes  back.  All  of  my  good  begin- 
nings flat  out  toward  the  end.  And  that's  why  I'm 
pot-boiling,  because,"  bitterly,  "  I  am  not  big  enough 
for  anything  else." 

82 


A  PLUSH  PUSSr  CAT 

"  You  mustn't  say  such  things.  We  achieve  only 
as  we  believe  in  ourselves.  Don't  you  know  that  ? 
If  you  believe  that  things  are  going  to  end  badly, 
they  will  end  badly." 

"  Oh,  wise  little  school-teacher,  how  do  you 
know?" 

"It  is  what  I  teach  my  children.  That  they  must 
believe  in  themselves." 

"  What  else  do  you  teach  them  ?  " 

"  That  they  must  believe  in  God  and  love  their 
country,  and  then  nothing  can  happen  to  them  that 
they  cannot  bear.  It  is  only  when  one  loses  faith 
and  hope  that  life  doesn't  seem  worth  while." 

"  And  do  you  believe  all  that  you  teach  ?  " 

Silence.  She  was  gazing  into  the  fire  thought- 
fully. "  I  believe  it,  but  I  don't  always  live  up  to  it. 
That's  the  hard  part,  acting  up  the  things  that  we 
believe.  I  tell  my  children  that,  and  I  tell  them,  too, 
that  they  must  always  keep  on  trying." 

She  was  delicious  with  her  theories  and  her  seri- 
ousness. And  she  was  charming  in  the  crisp  blue 
gown  that  had  been  her  uniform  since  the  beginning 
of  Peggy's  illness. 

He  laughed  and  leaned  toward  her.  "  Oh,  Mistress 
Anne,  Mistress  Anne,  how  much  you  have  to  learn." 

She  stood  up.  "  Perhaps  I  know  more  than  you 
think." 

"  Are  you  angry  because  I  said  that  ?  But  I  love 
your  arguments." 

83 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

His  frankness  was  irresistible  ;  she  could  not  take 
offense  so  she  sat  down  again. 

"  Perhaps,"  she  said,  hesitating,  "  you  might  under- 
stand better  how  I  feel  if  I  told  you  about  my  Great- 
uncle  Rodman  Warfield.  When  he  was  very  young 
he  went  to  Paris  to  study  art,  and  he  attracted  much 
attention.  Then  after  a  while  he  began  to  find  the 
people  interested  him  more  than  pictures.  You  see 
we  come  from  old  Maryland  stock.  My  grand- 
mother, Cynthia  Warfield,  was  one  of  the  proudest 
women  in  Carroll.  But  Uncle  Rodman  doesn't  be- 
lieve in  family  pride,  not  the  kind  that  sticks  its  nose 
in  the  air ;  and  so  when  he  came  back  to  America 
he  resolved  to  devote  his  talents  to  glorifying  the 
humble.  He  lived  among  the  poor  and  he  painted 
pictures  of  them.  And  then  one  day  there  was  an 
accident.  He  saved  a  woman  from  drowning  be- 
tween a  ferry-boat  and  the  slip,  and  he  hurt  his  back. 
There  was  a  sort  of  paralysis  that  affected  the  nerves 
of  his  hand — and  he  couldn't  paint  any  more.  He 
came  to  us — when  I  was  a  little  girl.  My  father  was 
dead,  and  mother  had  a  small  income.  We  couldn't 
afford  servants,  so  mother  sewed  and  Uncle  Rod  and 
I  did  the  housework.  And  it  was  he  who  tried  to 
teach  me  that  work  is  the  one  royal  thing  in  our 
lives." 

"  Where  is  he  now  ?" 

"  When  mother  died  our  income  was  cut  off,  and 
— I  had  to  leave  him.  He  could  have  a  home  with 

84 


A  PLUSH  PUSST  CAT 

a  cousin  of  ours  and  teach  her  children.  I  might 
have  stayed  with  her,  but  there  was  nothing  for  me 
to  do.  And  we  felt  that  it  was  best  for  me  to — find 
myself.  So  I  came  here.  He  writes  to  me — every 

day "     She  drew  a  long  breath.     "  I  don't  think 

I  could  live  without  letters  from  my  Uncle  Rod." 

"  So  you  are  really  a  princess  in  disguise,  and 
you  would  love  to  stick  your  nose  in  the  air,  but  you 
don't  quite  dare?" 

"  I  shouldn't  love  to  do  anything  snobbish." 

"There  is  no  use  in  pretending  that  you  are 
humble  when  you  are  not.  And  your  Great-uncle 
Rodman  is  a  dreamer.  Life  is  what  it  is,  not  what 
we  want  it  to  be." 

"  I  like  his  dreams,"  she  said,  simply,  "  and  I  want 
to  be  as  good  as  he  thinks  I  am." 

"  You  don't  have  to  be  too  good.  You  are  too 
pretty.  Do  you  know  that  Cynthia  Warfield's 
granddaughter  is  a  great  beauty,  Mistress  Anne?  " 

"  I  know  that  I  don't  like  to  have  you  say  such 
things  to  me." 

'•Why  not?" 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  you  mean  them." 

"  But  I  do  mean  them,"  eagerly. 

"  Perhaps,"  stiffly,  "  but  we  won't  talk  about  it. 
I  must  go  up  to  Peggy." 

Peter  Bower  was  with  Peggy.  He  was  a  round 
and  red-faced  Peter  with  the  kindest  heart  in  the 
world.  And  Peggy  was  the  apple  of  his  eye. 

85 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

"  Do  you  think  she  is  better,  Miss  Anne?  " 

"  Indeed  I  do.  And  now  you  go  and  get  some 
sleep,  Mr.  Bower.  I'll  stay  with  her  until  four,  and 
then  I'll  wake  Beulah." 

He  left  her  with  the  daily  paper  and  a  new 
magazine,  and  with  the  light  shaded,  Anne  sat  down 
to  read.  Peggy  was  sleeping  soundly  with  both 
arms  around  the  plush  pussy  which  Geoffrey  had 
given  her.  It  was  a  most  lifelike  pussy,  gray- 
striped  with  green  glass  eyes  and  with  a  little  red 
mouth  that  opened  and  mewed  when  you  pulled  a 
string.  Hung  by  a  ribbon  around  the  pussy  cat's 
neck  was  a  little  brass  bell.  As  the  child  stirred  in 
her  sleep  the  little  bell  tinkled.  There  was  no  sound 
except  the  sighing  of  the  wind.  All  the  house  was 
still. 

The  paper  was  full  of  news  of  the  great  war. 
Anne  read  it  carefully,  and  the  articles  on  the  same 
subject  in  the  magazine.  She  felt  that  she  must 
know  as  much  as  possible,  so  that  she  might  speak 
to  her  children  intelligently  of  the  great  conflict.  Of 
Belgium  and  England,  of  France  and  Germany. 
She  must  be  fair,  with  all  those  clear  eyes  focussed 
upon  her.  She  must,  indeed,  attempt  a  sort  of 
neutrality.  But  how  could  she  be  neutral,  with  her 
soul  burning  candles  on  the  altar  of  the  allies  ? 

As  she  read  on  and  on  in  the  silence  of  the  night, 
there  came  to  her  the  thought  of  the  dead  on  the 
field  of  battle.  What  of  those  shining  souls  ?  What 

86 


A  PLUSH  PUSST  CAT 

happened  after  men  went  out  into  the .  Great  Be- 
yond ?  Hun  and  Norman,  Saxon  and  Slav,  among 
the  shadows  were  they  all  at  Peace  ? 

Again  the  child  stirred  and  the  little  bell  tinkled. 
It  seemed  to  Anne  that  the  bell  and  the  staring  eyes 
were  symbolic.  The  gay  world  played  its  foolish 
music  and  looked  with  unseeing  eyes  upon  murder 
and  madness.  If  little  Peggy  had  lain  there  dead, 
the  little  bell  would  still  have  tinkled,  the  wide  green 
eyes  would  still  have  stared. 

But  Peggy,  thank  God,  was  alive.  Her  face,  like 
old  ivory  against  the  whiteness  of  her  pillow,  showed 
the  ravages  of  illness,  but  the  doctor  had  said  she 
was  out  of  danger. 

The  child  stirred  and  spoke.  "  Anne,"  she  whis- 
pered, "  tell  me  about  the  bears." 

Anne  knelt  beside  the  bed.  "  We  must  be  very 
quiet,"  she  said.  "  I  don't  want  to  wake  Beulah." 

So  very  softly  she  told  the  story.  Of  the  Daddy 
Bear  and  the  Mother  Bear  and  the  Baby  Bear ;  of 
the  little  House  in  the  Woods ;  of  Goldilocks,  the 
three  bowls  of  soup,  the  three  chairs,  the  three 
beds 

In  the  midst  of  it  all  Peggy  sat  up.  "  I  want  a 
bowl  of  soup  like  the  little  bear." 

"  But,  darling,  you've  had  your  lovely  supper." 

"  I  don't  care."  Peggy's  lip  quivered.  "  I'm  just 
starved,  and  I  can't  wait  until  I  have  my  breakfast." 

"  Let  me  tell  you  the  rest  of  the  story." 

87 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

"No.  I  don't  want  to  hear  it.  I  want  a  bowl  of 
soup  like  the  little  bear's." 

"  Maybe  it  wasn't  nice  soup,  Peggy." 

"  But  you  said  it  was.  You  said  that  the  Mother 
Bear  made  it  out  of  the  corn  from  the  farmer's  field, 
and  the  cock  that  the  fox  brought,  and  she  seasoned 
it  with  herbs  that  she  found  at  the  edge  of  the  forest. 
You  said  yourself  it  was  dee-licious  soup,  Miss  Anne." 

She  began  to  cry  weakly. 

"  Dearie,  don't.  If  I  go  down  into  the  kitchen 
and  warm  some  broth  will  you  keep  very  still?" 

"  Yes.  Only  I  don't  want  just  broth.  I  want 
soup  like  the  little  bear  had." 

"Peggy,  I  am  not  a  fairy  godmother.  I  can't 
wave  my  wand  and  get  things  in  the  middle  of  the 
night." 

"  Well,  anyhow,  you  can  put  it  in  a  blue  bowl,  you 
said  the  little  bear  had  his  in  a  blue  bowl,  and  you 
said  he  had  ten  crackers  in  it.  I  want  ten  crack- 
ers  " 

The  kitchen  was  warm  and  shadowy,  with  the 
light  of  a  kerosene  lamp  above  the  cook-stove.  Anne 
flitted  about  noiselessly,  finding  a  little  saucepan, 
finding  a  little  blue  bowl,  breaking  one  cracker  into 
ten  bits  to  satisfy  the  insistent  Peggy,  stirring  the 
bubbling  broth  with  a  spoon  as  she  bent  above  it. 

And  as  she  stirred,  she  was  thinking  of  Geoffrey 
Fox,  not  as  she  had  thought  of  Richard,  with  pulses 
throbbing  and  heart  fluttering,  but  calmly  ;  of  his 

88 


A  PLUSH  PUSST  CAT 

book  and  of  the  little  bust  of  Napoleon,  and  of  the 
things  that  she  had  been  reading  about  the  war. 

She  poured  the  soup  out  of  the  saucepan,  and  set 
it  steaming  on  a  low  tray.  Then  quietly  she  as- 
cended the  stairs.  Geoffrey's  door  was  wide  open 
and  his  room  was  empty,  but  through  the  dimness 
of  the  long  hall  she  discerned  his  figure,  outlined 
against  a  wide  window  at  the  end.  Back  of  him  the 
world  under  the  light  of  the  waning  moon  showed 
black  and  white  like  a  great  wash  drawing. 

He  turned  as  she  came  toward  him.  "  I  heard 
you  go  down,"  he  said.  "  I've  been  writing  all 
night — and  I've  written — perfect  rot."  His  hands 
went  out  in  a  despairing  gesture. 

Composed  and  quiet  in  her  crisp  linen,  she  looked 
up  at  him.  "  Write  about  the  war,"  she  said  ;  "  take 
three  soldiers, — French,  German  and  English.  Make 
their  hearts  hot  with  hatred,  and  then — let  them  lie 
wounded  together  on  the  field  of  battle  in  the  dark- 
ness of  the  night — with  death  ahead — and  let  each 
one  tell  his  story — let  them  be  drawn  together  by 
the  knowledge  of  a  common  lot — a  common  des- 
tiny   " 

"What  made  you  think  of  that?"  he  demanded. 

"  Peggy's  pussy  cat."  She  told  him  of  the  staring 
eyes  and  the  tinkling  bell.  "  But  I  mustn't  stay. 
Peggy  is  waiting  for  her  soup." 

He  gazed  at  her  with  admiration.  "  How  do  you 
doit?" 

89 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

"Do  what?" 

"  Dictate  a  heaven-born  plot  to  me  in  one  breath, 
and  speak  of  Peggy's  soup  in  the  next  You  are 
like  Werther's  Charlotte." 

"  I  am  Jike  myself.  And  we  mustn't  stay  here 
talking.  It  is  time  we  were  both  in  bed.  I  am  go- 
ing to  wake  Beulah  when  I  have  fed  Peggy." 

He  made  a  motion  of  salute.  "  The  princess 
serves,"  he  said,  laughing. 

But  as  she  passed  on,  calm  and  cool  and  collected, 
carrying  the  tray  before  her  like  the  famous  Choco- 
late lady  on  the  backs  of  magazines,  the  laugh  died 
on  his  lips.  She  was  not  to  be  laughed  at,  this  little 
Anne  Warfield,  who  held  her  head  so  high ! 


90 


CHAPTER  VII 

In    Which    Geoffrey   Writes   of  Soldiers   and   Their 
Souls. 

EVE  CHESLEY  writing  from  New  York  was 
still  in  a  state  of  rebellion. 

"  And  now  they  all  have  the  measles.  Richard,  it 
needed  only  your  letter  to  let  me  know  what  you 
have  done  to  yourself.  When  I  think  of  you,  tear- 
ing around  the  country  on  your  old  white  horse, 
with  your  ears  tied  up — I  am  sure  you  tie  up  your 
ears — it  is  a  perfect  nightmare.  Oh,  Dicky  Boy, 
and  you  might  be  here  specializing  on  appendicitis 
or  something  equally  reasonable  and  modern.  I 
feel  as  if  the  world  were  upside  down.  Do  children 
in  New  York  ever  have  the  measles  ?  Somehow  I 
never  hear  of  it.  It  seems  to  me  almost  archaic 
— like  mumps.  Nobody  in  society  ever  has  the 
mumps,  or  if  they  do,  they  keep  it  a  dead  secret,  like 
a  family  skeleton,  or  a  hard-working  grandfather. 

"  Your  letters  are  so  short,  and  they  don't  tell  me 
what  you  do  with  your  evenings.  Don't  you  miss 
us  ?  Don't  you  miss  me  ?  And  our  good  times  ? 
And  the  golden  lights  of  the  city  ?  Winifred  Ames 
wants  you  for  a  dinner  dance  on  the  twentieth. 

91 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

Can't  you  turn  the  measley  kiddies  over  to  some 
one  else  and  come  ?  Say  '  yes,'  Dicky,  dear.  Oh, 
you  musn't  be  just  a  country  doctor.  You  were 
born  for  bigger  things,  and  some  day  you  will  see 
it  and  be  sorry." 

Richard's  letter,  dashed  off  between  visits  to  the 
"  measley  kiddies,"  was  as  follows  : 

"There  aren't  any  bigger  things,  Eve,  and  I 
shan't  be  sorry.  I  can't  get  away  just  now,  and  to 
be  frank,  I  don't  want  to.  There  is  nothing  dull 
about  measles.  They  have  aspects  of  interest  un- 
known to  a  dinner  dance.  I  am  not  saying  that  I 
don't  miss  some  of  the  things  that  I  have  left  behind 
— my  good  friends — you  and  Pip  and  the  Dutton- 
Ames.  But  there  are  compensations.  And  you 
should  see  my  horse.  He's  a  heavy  fellow  like  a 
horse  of  Flanders ;  I  call  him  Ben  because  he  is  big 
and  gentle.  I  don't  tie  up  my  ears,  but  I  should  if  I 
wanted  to.  And  please  don't  think  I  am  ungrateful 
because  I  am  not  coming  to  the  Dutton-Ames  dance. 
Why  don't  you  and  the  rest  drift  down  here  for  a 
week-end?  Next  Friday,  the  Friday  after?  Let  me 
know.  There's  good  skating  now  that  the  snows 
have  stopped." 

He  signed  it  and  sealed  it  and  on  the  way  to  see 
little  Peggy  he  dropped  it  into  the  box.  Then  he 
entirely  forgot  it.  It  was  a  wonderful  morning,  with  a 
sky  like  sapphire  above  a  white  world,  the  dog  Toby 
racing  ahead  of  him,  and  big  gentle  Ben  at  a  trot. 

92 


SOLDIERS  AND  THEIR  SOULS 

At  the  innocent  word  "  compensations  "  Evelyn 
Chesley  pricked  up  her  ears.  What  compensations  ? 
She  got  Philip  Meade  on  the  telephone. 

"  Richard  has  asked  us  for  the  week-end,  Pip. 
Could  we  go  in  your  car  ?  " 

"  Unless  it  snows  again.  But  why  seek  such 
solitudes,  Eye  ?  " 

"  I  want  to  take  Richard  a  fur  cap.  I  am  sure  he 
ties  up  his  ears." 

"  Send  it." 

"  In  a  cold-blooded  parcel  post  package  ?  I  will 
not.  Pip,  if  you  won't  go,  I'll  kidnap  Aunt  Maude, 
and  carry  her  off  by  train." 

"  And  leave  me  out  ?  Not  much.  '  Whither  thou 
goest '  " 

"Even  when  I  am  on  the  trail  of  another  man ? 
Pip,  you  are  a  dear  idiot." 

"  The  queen's  fool." 

So  it  was  decided  that  on  Friday,  weather  per- 
mitting, they  should  go. 

Aunt  Maude,  protesting,  said,  "  It  isn't  proper, 
Eve.  Girls  in  my  day  didn't  go  running  around 
after  men.  They  sat  at  home  and  waited." 

"  Why  wait,  dearest  ?  When  I  see  a  good  thing 
I  go  for  it." 

"Eve 1" 

"  And  anyhow  I  am  not  running  after  Dicky.  I 
am  rescuing  him." 

"  From  what  ? " 

93 


MISTRESS  4NNE 

"  From  his  mother,  dearest,  and  his  own  dreams. 
Their  heads  are  in  the  clouds,  and  they  don't 
know  it." 

"  I  think  myself  that  Nancy  is  making  a  mistake." 

"  More  of  a  mistake  than  she  understands."  The 
lightness  left  Eve's  voice.  She  was  silent  as  she  ate 
an  orange  and  drank  a  cup  of  clear  coffee.  Eve's 
fashionable  and  adorable  thinness  was  the  result 
of  abstinence  and  of  exercise.  Facing  daily  Aunt 
Maude's  plumpness,  she  had  sacrificed  ease  and 
appetite  on  the  altar  of  grace  and  beauty. 

Yet  Aunt  Maude's  plumpness  was  not  the  plump- 
ness of  inelegance.  Nothing  about  Aunt  Maude  was 
inelegant.  She  was  of  ancient  Knickerbocker  stock. 
She  had  been  petrified  by  years  of  social  exclusive- 
ness  into  something  less  amiable  than  her  curves 
and  dimples  promised.  Her  hair  was  gray,  and  not 
much  of  it  was  her  own.  Her  curled  bang  and  high 
coronet  braid  were  held  flatly  against  her  head  by  a 
hair  net.  She  wore  always  certain  chains  and  brace- 
lets which  proclaimed  the  family's  past  prosperity. 
Her  present  prosperity  was  evidenced  by  the  some- 
what severe  richness  of  her  attire.  Her  complexion 
was  delicately  yellow  and  her  wrinkles  were  deep. 
Her  eyes  were  light  blue  and  coldly  staring.  In 
manner  she  seemed  to  set  herself  against  any  world 
but  her  own. 

The  money  on  which  the  two  women  lived  was 
Aunt  Maude's.  She  expected  to  make  Eve  her  heir. 

94 


SOLDIERS  AND  THEIR  SOULS 

In  the  meantime  she  gave  her  a  generous  allowance 
and  indulged  most  of  her  whims. 

The  latest  whim  was  the  new  breakfast  room  in 
which  they  now  sat,  with  the  winter  sun  streaming 
through  the  small  panes  of  a  wide  south  window. 

For  sixty  odd  years  Aunt  Maude  had  eaten  her 
breakfast  promptly  at  eight  from  a  tray  in  her  own 
room.  It  had  been  a  hearty  breakfast  of  hot  breads 
and  chops.  At  one  she  had  lunched  decently  in 
the  long  dim  dining-room  in  a  mid- Victorian  atmos- 
phere of  Moquet  and  marble  mantels,  carved  walnut 
and  plush  curtains. 

And  now  back  of  this  sacred  dining-room  Eve 
had  built  out  a  structure  of  glass  and  of  stone,  look- 
ing over  a  scrap  of  enclosed  city  garden,  and  fur- 
nished in  black  and  white,  relieved  by  splashes  of 
brilliant  color.  Aunt  Maude  hated  the  green  par- 
rot and  the  flame-colored  fishes  in  the  teakwood 
aquarium.  She  thought  that  Eve  looked  like  an 
actress  in  the  little  jacket  with  the  apple-green  rib- 
bons which  she  wore  when  she  came  down  at  twelve. 

"  Aren't  we  ever  going  to  eat  any  more  lunch- 
eons?" had  been  Aunt  Maude's  plaintive  question 
when  she  realized  that  she  was  in  the  midst  of  a 
gastronomic  revolution. 

"  Nobody  does,  dearest.  If  you  are  really  up-to- 
date  you  breakfast  and  dine — the  other  meals  are 
vague — illusory." 

"  People  in  my  time "  Aunt  Maude  had  stated. 

95 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

"  People  in  your  time,"  Evelyn  had  interrupted  flip- 
pantly, "  were  wise  and  good.  Nobody  wants  to  be 
wise  and  good  in  these  days.  We  want  to  be  smart 
and  sophisticated.  Your  good  old  stuffy  dining- 
rooms  were  like  your  good  old  stuffy  consciences. 
Now  my  breakfast  room  is  symbolic — the  green  and 
white  for  the  joy  of  living,  and  the  black  for  my 
sins." 

She  stood  up  on  tiptoe  to  feed  the  parrot.  "  To- 
morrow," she  announced,  "  I  am  to  have  a  black 
cat.  I  found  one  at  the  cat  show — with  green  eyes. 
And  I  am  going  to  match  his  cushion  to  his  eyes." 

"  I'd  like  a  cat,"  Aunt  Maude  said,  unexpectedly, 
"  but  I  can't  say  that  I  care  for  black  ones.  The 
grays  are  the  best  mousers." 

Eve  looked  at  her  reproachfully.  "  Do  you  think 
that  cats  catch  mice  ?  "  she  demanded, — "  up-to-date 
cats  ?  They  sit  on  cushions  and  add  emphasis  to 
the  color  scheme.  Winifred  Ames  has  a  yellow  one 
to  go  with  her  primrose  panels." 

The  telephone  rang.  A  maid  answered  it.  "  It 
is  for  you,  Miss  Evelyn." 

"  It  is  Pip,"  Eve  said,  as  she  turned  from  the  tele- 
phone ;  "  he's  coming  up." 

Aunt  Maude  surveyed  her.  "  You're  not  going  to 
receive  him  as  you  are  ?  " 

"  As  I  am  ?     Why  not  ?  " 

"  Eve,  go  to  your  room  and  put  something  on" 

Aunt  Maude  agonized ;  "  when  I  was  a  girl " 

06 


SOLDIERS  AND  THEIR  SOULS 

Evelyn  dropped  a  kiss  on  her  cheek.  "  When  you 
were  a  girl,  Aunt  Maude,  you  were  very  pretty,  and 
you  wore  very  low  necks  and  short  sleeves  on  the 
street,  and  short  dresses — and — and " 

Remembering  the  family  album,  Aunt  Maude 
stopped  her  hastily.  "  It  doesn't  make  any  differ- 
ence what  I  wore.  You  are  not  going  to  receive 
any  gentleman  in  that  ridiculous  jacket." 

Eve  surveyed  herself  in  an  oval  mirror  set  above 
a  console-table.  "  I  think  I  look  rather  nice.  And 
Pip  would  like  me  in  anything.  Aunt  Maude,  it's  a 
queer  world  for  us  women.  The  men  that  we  want 
don't  want  us,  and  the  men  that  we  don't  want  adore 
us.  The  emancipation  of  women  will  come  when 
they  can  ask  men  to  marry  them." 

She  was  ruffling  the  feathers  on  the  green  parrot's 
head.  He  caught  her  finger  carefully  in  his  claw 
and  crooned. 

Aunt  Maude  rose.  "  I  had  twenty  proposals — 
your  uncle's  was  the  twentieth.  I  loved  him  at  first 
sight,  and  I  loved  him  until  he  left  me." 

"  Uncle  was  a  dear,"  Eve  agreed,  "  but  suppose 
he  hadn't  asked  you,  Aunt  Maude  ?  " 

"  I  should  have  remained  single  to  the  end  of  my 
days." 

"  Oh,  no,  you  wouldn't,  Aunt  Maude.  You  would 
have  married  the  wrong  man — that's  the  way  it  al- 
ways ends — if  women  didn't  marry  the  wrong  men 
half  the  world  would  be  old  maids." 

97 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

Philip  Meade  was  much  in  love.  He  had  money, 
family,  good  looks  and  infinite  patience.  Some  day 
he  meant  to  marry  Eve.  But  he  was  aware  that 
she  was  not  yet  in  love  with  him. 

She  came  down  gowned  for  the  street.  And  thus 
kept  him  waiting.  "  It  was  Aunt  Maude's  fault. 
She  made  me  dress.  Pip,  where  shall  we  walk  ?  " 

He  did  not  care.  He  cared  only  to  be  with  her. 
He  told  her  so,  and  she  smiled  up  at  him  wistfully. 
"  You're  such  a  dear — I  wish " 

She  stopped. 

"  What  do  you  wish  ?  "  he  asked  eagerly. 

"  For  the — sun.  You  are  the  moon.  May  I  call 
you  my  moon-man,  Pip  ?  " 

He  knew  what  she  meant.  "Yes.  But  you 
must  remember  that  some  day  I  shall  not  be  con- 
tent to  take  second  place — I  shall  fight  for  the  head 
of  your  line  of  lovers." 

"  Line  of  lovers — Pip.  I  don't  like  the  sound 
of  it." 

"  Why  not  ?     It's  true." 

Again  she  was  wistful.  "  I  wonder  how  many  of 
them  really — care  ?  Pip,  it  is  the  one-proposal  girl 
who  is  lucky.  She  has  no  problems.  She  simply 
takes  the  man  she  can  get ! " 

They  were  swinging  along  Fifth  Avenue.  He 
stopped  at  a  flower  shop  and  bought  her  a  tight 
little  knot  of  yellow  roses  which  matched  her  hair. 
She  was  in  brown  velvet  with  brown  boots  and  brown 

98 


SOLDIERS  AND  THEIR  SOULS 

furs.  Her  skin  showed  pink  and  white  in  the  clear 
cold.  She  and  the  big  man  by  her  side  were  a  pair 
good  to  look  upon,  and  people  turned  to  look. 

Coming  to  a  famous  jewel  shop  she  turned  in.  "  I 
am  going  to  have  all  of  Aunt  Maude's  opals  set  in 
platinum  to  make  a  long  chain.  She  gave  them  to 
me  ;  and  there'll  be  diamonds  at  intervals.  I  want 
to  wear  smoke-colored  tulle  at  Winifred  Ames'  din- 
ner dance — and  the  opals  will  light  it." 

Philip  Meade's  mind  was  not  poetic,  yet  as  his 
eyes  followed  Evelyn,  he  was  aware  that  this  was  an 
atmosphere  which  belonged  to  her.  Her  beauty  was 
opulent,  needing  richness  to  set  it  off,  needing  the 
shine  of  jewels,  the  shimmer  of  silk 

If  he  married  her  he  could  give  her — a  tiara  of 
diamonds — a  necklace  of  pearls — a  pendant — a  ring. 
His  eyes  swept  the  store  adorning  her. 

When  they  came  out  he  said,  "  I  think  I  am 
showing  a  greatness  of  mind  which  should  win 
your  admiration." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  In  taking  you  to  Crossroads." 

"Why?" 

"  You  know  why.  Shall  you  write  to  Brooks  that 
we  are  coming  ?  " 

"  No.  I  want  it  to  be  a  surprise.  That's  half  the 
fun." 

But  there  was  nothing  funny  about  it,  as  it 
proved,  for  it  was  on  that  very  Friday  morning  that 

99 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

Richard  had  found  Peggy  much  better,  and  Anne 
very  pale  with  circles  under  her  eyes. 

He  went  away,  and  later  his  mother  called  Anne 
up.  She  asked  her  to  spend  the  day  at  Crossroads. 
Richard  would  come  for  her  and  would  bring  her 
home  after  dinner. 

Anne,  with  a  fluttering  sense  of  excitement,  packed 
her  ruffled  white  frock  in  a  little  bag,  and  was  ready 
when  Richard  arrived. 

At  the  gate  they  met  Geoffrey  Fox.  The  young 
doctor  stopped  his  horse.  "  Come  and  have  lunch 
with  us,  Fox  ?  " 

"  I'm  sorry.  But  I  must  get  to  work.  How  long 
are  you  going  to  keep  Miss  Warfield  ?  " 

"  As  late  as  we  can." 

"  To-night  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  have  a  chapter  ready  to  read  to  her,  and  you 
ask  her  to  eat  with  you  as  if  she  were  any  every-day 
sort  of  person.  Did  you  know  that  she  is  to  play 
Beatrice  to  my  Dante  ?  " 

"  Don't  be  silly,"  Anne  said  ;  "you  mustn't  listen 
to  him,  Dr.  Brooks." 

Richard's  eyes  went  from  one  to  the  other. 
"What  do  you  know  of  Fox?"  he  asked,  as  they 
drove  on. 

"  Nothing,  except  that  he  is  writing  a  book." 

"  I'll  ask  Eve  about  him  ;  she's  a  lion-hunter  and 
she's  in  with  a  lot  of  literary  lights." 

ICO 


SOLDIERS  4ND  THEIR  SOULS 

Even  as  he  spoke  Evelyn  was  speeding  toward 
him  in  Philip's  car.  He  had  forgotten  her  and  his 
invitation  for  the  week-end.  But  she  had  not  for- 
gotten, and  she  sparkled  and  glowed  as  she  thought 
of  Richard's  royal  welcome.  For  how  could  she 
know,  as  she  drew  near  and  nearer,  that  he  was 
welcoming  another  guest,  taking  off  the  little 
teacher's  old  brown  coat,  noting  the  flush  on  her 
young  cheeks,  the  pretty  appeal  of  her  manner  to 
his  mother. 

"You  are  sure  I  won't  be  in  the  way,  Mrs. 
Brooks  ?  " 

"  My  dear,  my  dear,  of  course  not.  Richard  has 
been  telling  me  that  your  grandmother  was  Cynthia 
Warfield.  Did  you  know  that  my  father  was  in 
love  with  Cynthia  before  he  married  my  mother?" 

"  The  letters  said  so." 

"I  shall  want  to  see  them.  And  to  hear  about 
your  Great-uncle  Rodman.  We  thought  at  one  time 
that  he  was  going  to  be  famous,  and  then  came  that 
dreadful  accident." 

They  had  her  in  a  big  chair  now,  with  a  high 
back  which  peaked  over  her  head  and  Nancy  had 
another  high-backed  chair,  and  Richard  standing 
on  the  hearth-rug  surveyed  the  two  of  them  con- 
tentedly. 

"Mother,  I  am 'going  to  give  myself  fifteen  min- 
utes right  here  and  a  half  hour  for  lunch,  and  then 
I'll  go  out  and  make  calls,  and  you  and  Miss  War- 

101 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

field  can  take  a  nap  and  be  ready  to  talk  to  me  to- 
night." 

Anne  smiled  up  at  him.  "  Do  you  always  make 
everybody  mind  ?  " 

"  I  try  to  boss  mother  a  bit — but  I  am  not  sure 
that  I  succeed." 

Before  luncheon  was  served  Cynthia  Warfield's 
picture,  which  hung  in  the  library,  was  pointed  out 
to  Anne.  She  was  made  to  stand  under  it,  so  that 
they  might  see  that  her  hair  was  the  same  color — and 
her  eyes.  Cynthia  was  painted  in  pink  silk  with  a 
petticoat  of  fine  lace,  and  with  pearls  in  her  hair. 

"  Some  day,"  Anne  said,  "  when  my  ship  comes 
in,  I  am  going  to  wear  stiff  pink  silk  and  pearls  and 
buckled  slippers  and  yards  and  yards  of  old  lace." 

"No,  you're  not,"  Richard  told  her;  "you  are  go- 
ing to  wear  white  with  more  than  a  million  ruffles, 
and  little  flat  black  shoes.  Mother,  you  should  have 
seen  her  at  Beulah  Bower's  party." 

"White  is  always  nice  for  a  young  girl,"  said  pleas- 
ant Nancy  Brooks. 

The  dining-room  looked  out  upon  the  river,  with 
an  old-fashioned  bay  window  curving  out.  The  table 
was  placed  near  the  window.  Anne's  eyes  brightened 
as  she  looked  at  the  table.  It  was  just  as  she  had 
pictured  it,  all  twinkling  glass  and  silver,  and  with 
Richard  at  the  head  of  it.  But  what  she  had  not 
pictured  was  the  moment  in  which  he  stood  to  say 
the  simple  and  beautiful  grace  which  his  grandfather 

102 


SOLDIERS  AND  THEIR  SOULS 

had  said  years  before  in  that  room  of  many  mem- 
ories. 

The  act  seemed  to  set  him  apart  from  other  men. 
It  added  dignity  and  strength  to  his  youth  and  radi- 
ance. He  was  master  of  a  house,  and  he  felt  that 
his  house  should  have  a  soul ! 

Anne,  writing  of  it  the  next  night  to  her  Uncle 
Rod,  spoke  of  that  simple  grace : 

"  Uncle  Rod,  it  seemed  to  me  that  while  most  of 
the  world  was  forgetting  God,  he  was  remembering 
Him.  Nobody  says  grace  at  Bower's — and  some- 
times I  don't  even  say  it  in  my  heart.  He  looked 
like  a  saint  as  he  stood  there  with  the  window  be- 
hind him.  Wasn't  there  a  soldier  saint — St.  Michael  ? 

"  Could  you  imagine  Jimmie  Ford  saying  grace  ? 
Could  you  imagine  him  even  at  the  head  of  his  own 
table?  When  I  used  to  think  of  marrying  him,  I 
had  a  vision  of  eternal  motor  riding  in  his  long  blue 
car — with  the  world  rushing  by  in  a  green  streak. 

"  But  I  am  not  wanting  much  to  talk  of  Jimmie 
Ford.  Though  perhaps  before  I  finish  this  I  shall 
whisper  what  I  thought  of  the  things  you  had  to  say 
of  him  in  your  letter. 

"  Well,  after  lunch  I  had  a  nap,  and  then  there  was 
dinner  with  David  Tyson  in  an  old-fashioned  dress- 
suit,  and  Mrs.  Nancy  in  thin  black  with  pearls,  and 
St.  Michael  groomed  and  shining. 

"  It  was  all  quite  like  a  slice  of  Heaven  after  my 
hard  days  nursing  Peggy.  We  had  coffee  in  the 

103 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

library,  and  then  Dr.  Richard  and  I  went  into  the 
music-room  and  I  played  for  him.  I  sang  the  song 
that  you  like  about  the  '  Lady  of  the  West  Country  ' : 

"  '  I  think  she  was  the  most  beautiful  lady 
That  ever  was  in  the  West  Country. 
But  beauty  vanishes,  beauty  passes, 
However  rare,  rare  it  be ; 
And  when  I  crumble  who  shall  remember 
That  Lady  of  the  West  Country  ?  ' 

"  He  liked  it  and  made  me  sing  it  twice,  and  then 
a  dreadful  thing  happened.  A  motor  stopped  at 
the  door  and  some  one  ran  up  the  steps.  We  heard 
voices  and  turned  around,  and  there  were  the  Lovely 
Ladies  back  again  with  the  two  men,  and  a  chauffeur 
in  the  background  with  the  bags  ! 

"  It  seems  that  they  had  motored  down  at  Dr. 
Richard's  invitation  for  a  week-end,  and  that  he  had 
forgotten  it ! 

"  Of  course  you  are  asking,  '  Why  was  it  a  dread- 
ful thing,  my  dear?'  Uncle  Rod,  I  stood  there 
smiling  a  welcome  at  them  all,  and  Dr.  Richard 
said :  '  You  know  Miss  Warfield,  Eve,'  and  then  she 
said,  '  Oh,  yes,'  in  a  frigid  fashion,  and  I  knew  by 
her  manner  that  back  in  her  mind  she  was  remem- 
bering that  I  was  the  girl  who  had  waited  on  the 
table  1 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  tell  me  that  I  mustn't  feel  that 
way,  Uncle  Rod.  I  feel  it,  and  feel  it,  and  feel  it. 
How  can  I  help  feeling  it  when  I  know  that  if  I 

104 


SOLDIERS  AND  THEIR  SOULS 

had  Evelyn  Chesley's  friends  and  Evelyn's  fortune, 
people  would  look  on  Me-Myself  in  quite  a  different 
way.  You  see,  they  would  judge  me  by  the  Out- 
side-Person  part  of  me,  which  would  be  soft  and 
silky  and  secure,  and  not  dowdy  and  diffident. 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Rod,  is  Geoffrey  Fox  right  ?  And 
have  you  and  I  been  dreaming  all  these  years  ?  The 
rest  of  the  world  doesn't  dream  ;  it  makes  money 
and  spends  it,  and  makes  money  and  spends  it,  and 
makes  money  and  spends  it.  Nobody  but  you  and 
I  is  old-fashioned  enough  to  want  sunsets ;  the  rest 
of  them  want  motor  cars  and  yachts  and  trips  to 
Europe.  That  was  what  Jimmie  Ford  wanted,  and 
that  was  why  he  didn't  want  me. 

"There,  I  have  said  it,  Uncle  Rod.  Your  letter 
made  me  know  it.  Perhaps  I  have  hoped  and 
hoped  a  little  that  he  might  come  back  to  me.  I 
have  made  up  scenes  in  my  mind  of  how  I  would 
scorn  him  and  send  him  away,  and  indeed  I  would 
send  him  away,  for  there  isn't  any  love  left— only  a 
lot  of  hurt  pride. 

"  To  think  that  he  saw  you  and  spoke  to  you  and 
didn't  say  one  word  about  me.  And  just  a  year  ago 
at  Christmas  time,  do  you  remember,  Uncle  Rod  ? 
The  flowers  he  sent,  and  the  pearl  ring — and  now 
the  flowers  are  dead,  and  the  ring  went  back  to  him. 

"  Oh,  I  can't  talk  about  it  even  to  you  ! 

"Well,  all  the  evening  Eve  Chesley  held  the 
center  of  the  stage.  And  the  funny  part  of  it  was 

105 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

that  I  found  myself  much  interested  in  the  things 
she  had  to  tell.  Her  life  is  a  sort  of  Arabian  Nights' 
existence.  She  lives  with  her  Aunt  Maude  in  a  big 
house  east  of  Central  Park,  and  she  told  about  the 
green  parrot  for  her  new  black  and  white  breakfast 
room,  and  the  flame-colored  fishes  in  an  aquarium 
— and  she  is  having  her  opals  set  in  platinum  to  go 
with  a  silver  gown  that  she  is  to  wear  at  the  Dutton- 
Ames  dance. 

"  I  like  the  Dutton-Ames.  He  is  dark  and  mass- 
ive— a  splendid  foil  for  his  wife's  slenderness  and 
fairness.  They  are  much  in  love  with  each  other. 
He  always  sits  beside  her  if  he  can,  and  she  looks  up 
at  him  and  smiles,  and  last  night  I  saw  him  take  her 
hand  where  it  hung  among  the  folds  of  her  gown, 
and  he  held  it  after  that — and  it  made  me  think  of 
father  and  mother — and  of  the  way  they  cared. 
Jimmie  Ford  could  never  care  like  that — but  Dr. 
Richard  could.  He  cares  that  way  for  his  mother — 
he  could  care  for  the  woman  he  loved. 

"  He  took  me  home  in  Mr.  Meade's  limousine.  It 
was  moonlight,  and  he  told  the  chauffeur  to  drive 
the  long  way  by  the  river  road. 

"  I  like  him  very  much.  He  believes  in  things, 
and — and  I  rather  think  that  his  ship  is  packed  with 
dreams — but  I  am  not  sure,  Uncle  Rod." 

It  was  when  Anne  had  come  in  from  her  moon- 
light ride  with  Richard,  shutting  the  door  carefully 

106 


SOLDIERS  AND  THEIR  SOULS 

behind  her,  that  she  found  Geoffrey  Fox  waiting  for 
her  in  the  big  front  room. 

"Oh,"  she  stammered. 

"And  you  really  have  the  grace  to  blush?  Do 
you  know  what  time  it  is?" 

"  No." 

"Twelve I  Midnight !  And  you  have  been  riding 
with  only  the  chauffeur  for  chaperone." 

"  Well  ?  " 

"And  you  have  kept  me  waiting.  That's  the 
worst  of  it.  You  may  break  all  of  the  conventional 
commandments  if  you  wish.  But  you  mustn't  keep 
me  waiting." 

His  laugh  rang  high,  his  cheeks  were  flushed. 
Anne  had  never  seen  him  in  a  mood  like  this.  In 
his  loose  coat  with  a  flowing  black  tie  and  with  his 
ruffled  hair  curling  close  about  his  ears,  he  looked 
boyish  and  handsome  like  the  pictures  she  had  seen 
of  Byron  in  an  old  book. 

"Sit  down,  sit  down,"  he  was  insisting;  "now 
that  you  are  here,  you  must  listen." 

"It  is  too  late,"  she  demurred,  "and  we'll  wake 
everybody  up." 

"No,  we  shan't.  The  doors  are  shut  I  saw  to 
that.  We  are  as  much  alone  as  if  we  were  in  a 
desert.  And  I  can't  sleep  until  I  have  read  that 
chapter  to  you — please " 

Reluctantly,  with  her  wraps  on,  she  sat  down. 

"  Take  off  your  hat." 

107 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

He  stood  over  her  while  she  removed  it,  and 
helped  her  out  of  her  coat.  "Look  at  me,"  he 
said,  peremptorily.  "  I  hate  to  read  to  wandering 
eyes." 

He  threw  himself  into  a  chair  and  began  : 

"So  they  marched  away — young  Franz  from  Nur- 
emberg and  young  George  from  London,  and  Michel 
straight  from  the  vineyards  on  the  coast  of  France." 

That  was  the  beginning  of  Geoffrey  Fox's  famous 
story :  "  The  Three  Souls,"  the  story  which  was  to 
bring  him  something  of  fortune  as  well  as  of  fame, 
the  story  which  had  been  suggested  to  Anne  War- 
field  by  the  staring  eyes  of  Peggy's  pussy  cat. 

As  she  listened,  Anne  saw  three  youths  starting 
out  from  home,  marching  gaily  through  the  cities 
and  steadily  along  the  roads — marching,  marching 
— Franz  from  Nuremburg,  young  George  from  Lon- 
don, and  Michel  from  his  sunlighted  vineyards, 
drawing  close  and  closer,  unconscious  of  the  fate 
that  was  bringing  them  together,  thinking  of  the 
glory  of  battle,  and  of  the  honor  of  Kaiser  and  King 
and  of  the  Republic. 

The  shadow  of  the  great  conflict  falls  gradually 
upon  them.  They  meet  the  wounded,  the  refugees, 
they  hear  the  roar  of  the  guns,  they  listen  to  the 
tales  of  those  who  have  been  in  the  thick  of  it. 

Then  come  privations,  suffering,  winter  in  the 
trenches — Franz  on  one  side,  young  George  on  the 
other,  and  Michel ;  then  righting — fear  — 

1 08 


SOLDIERS  AND  THEIR  SOULS 

Geoffrey  stopped  there.  "Shall  I  have  them 
afraid?" 

"  I  think  they  would  be  afraid.  But  they  would 
keep  on  fighting,  and  that  would  be  heroic." 

She  added,  "  How  well  you  do  it  1 " 

"  This  part  is  easy.  It  will  be  the  last  of  it  that 
I  shall  find  hard — when  I  deal  with  their  souls." 

"  Oh,  you  must  show  at  the  last  that  it  is  because 
of  their  souls  that  they  are  brothers.  Each  man  has 
had  a  home,  he  has  had  love,  each  of  them  has  had 
his  hopes  and  dreams  for  the  future,  for  his  middle- 
age  and  his  old  age,  and  now  there  is  to  be  no 
middle-age,  no  old  age — and  in  their  knowledge  of 
their  common  lot  their  hatred  dies." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  can't  do  it,"  he  said,  moodily.  "  I 
should  have  to  swing  myself  out  into  an  atmosphere 
which  I  have  never  breatried." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  am  of  the  earth — earthy.  I  have  sold  my 
birthright,  I  have  yearned  for  the  flesh-pots,  I  have 
fed  among — swine.  I  have  done  all  of  the  other 
things  which  haven't  Biblical  sanction.  And  now 
you  expect  me  to  write  of  souls." 

"  I  expect  you  to  give  to  the  world  your  best. 
You  speak  of  your  talent  as  if  it  were  a  little  thing. 
And  it  is  not  a  little  thing." 

"  Do  you  mean  that ?  " 

"  I  mean  that  it  is — God  given." 

Out  of  a  long  silence  he  said  :  "  I  thank  you  for 
109 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

saying  that.     Nobody  has  ever  said  such  a  thing  to 
me  before." 

He  let  her  go  then.  And  as  she  stood  before  her 
door  a  little  later  and  whispered,  "  Good-night,"  he 
caught  her  hand  and  held  it.  "  Mistress  Anne — will 
you  remember  me — now  and  then — in  your  little 
white  prayers?" 


no 


CHAPTER  VIII 

In  Which  a  Green-Eyed  Monster  Grips  Eve. 

EVELYN,  coming  down  late  on  the  morning 
after  her  unexpected  arrival,  asked  :  "  How  did 
you  happen  to  have  her  here,  Dicky  ?  " 

"Who?" 

"The  little  waitress?" 

"  Eve "  warningly. 

"  Well,  then,  the  little  school-teacher." 

"  Since  when  did  you  become  a  snob,  Eve  ?  " 

"  Don't  be  so  sharp  about  it,  Dicky.  I'm  not  a 
snob.  But  you  must  admit  that  it  was  rather  sur- 
prising to  find  her  here,  when  the  last  time  I  saw 
her  she  was  passing  things  at  the  Bower's  table." 

"  She  is  a  granddaughter  of  Cynthia  Warfield." 

"  Who's  Cynthia?     I  never  heard  of  her." 

"  You  have  seen  her  portrait  in  our  library." 

"  Which  portrait  ?  " 

He  led  the  way  and  showed  it  to  her.  Eve, 
looking  at  it  thoughtfully,  remarked,  "  Why  should 
a  girl  like  that  lower  herself  by  serving ?  " 

"  She  probably  doesn't  feel  that  she  can  lower  her- 
self by  anything.  She  is  what  she  is." 

She  shrugged.  "  You  know  as  well  as  I  that 
in 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

people  can't  do  such  things — and  get  away  with  it. 
She  may  be  very  nice  and  all  that " 

"  She  is  nice." 

"  Well,  don't  lose  your  temper  over  it,  and  don't 
fall  in  love  with  her,  Dicky." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Haven't  you  done  enough  foolish  things  without 
doing — that  ?  " 

"  Doing  what  ?  "  ominously. 

"  Oh,  you  know  what  I  mean,"  impatiently. 
"Aren't  you  ever  going  to  come  to  your  senses, 
Dicky?" 

"  Suppose  we  don't  talk  of  it,  Eve." 

She  found  herself  wanting  to  talk  of  it.  She 
wanted  to  rage  and  rant.  She  was  astonished  at 
the  primitiveness  of  her  emotions.  She  had  laughed 
her  way  through  life  and  had  prided  herself  on  the 
dispassionateness  of  her  point  of  view.  And  now  it 
was  only  by  the  exercise  of  the  utmost  self-control 
that  she  was  able  to  swing  the  conversation  toward 
other  topics. 

The  coming  of  the  rest  of  the  party  eased  things 
up  a  little.  They  had  all  slept  late,  and  Richard 
had  made  a  half  dozen  calls  before  he  had  joined 
Eve  in  the  Garden  Room.  He  had  stopped  at 
David's,  and  had  heard  that  on  Monday  there  was 
to  be  a  drag-hunt  and  breakfast  at  the  club.  David 
hoped  they  would  all  stay  over  for  it. 

"  Cousin  David   has  a  bunch   of  weedy-looking 

112 


A  GREEN-EYED  MONSTER 

hounds,"  Richard  explained ;  "  he  lets  them  run  as 
they  please,  and  they've  been  getting  up  a  fox  nearly 
every  night.  He  thought  you  might  like  to  ride  up 
to  the  ridge  in  the  moonlight  and  have  a  view  of 
them.  I  can  get  you  some  pretty  fair  mounts  at 
Bower's." 

There  was  a  note  of  wistful  appeal  in  Eve's  voice. 
"  Do  you  really  want  us,  Dicky  ?  " 

He  smiled  at  her.  "  Of  course.  Don't  be  silly, 
Eve." 

She  saw  that  she  was  forgiven,  and  smiled  back. 
She  had  not  slept  much  the  night  before.  She  had 
heard  Richard  come  in  after  his  ride  with  Anne,  and 
she  had  been  waked  later  by  the  sound  of  the  tele- 
phone. In  the  room  next  to  hers  Richard's  subdued 
voice  had  answered.  And  presently  there  had  been 
the  sound  of  his  careful  footsteps  on  the  stairs. 

She  had  crept  out  of  bed  and  between  the  curtains 
had  looked  out.  The  world  was  full  of  the  shadowy 
paleness  which  comes  with  the  waning  of  the  moon. 
The  road  beyond  the  garden  showed  like  a  dull  gray 
ribbon  against  the  blackness  of  the  hills.  On  this 
road  appeared  presently  Richard  on  his  big  white 
horse,  the  dog  Toby,  a  shadow  among  the  shadows 
as  he  ran  on  ahead  of  them. 

On  and  on  they  sped  up  the  dull  gray  road,  a 
spectral  rider  on  a  spectral  horse.  She  had  won- 
dered where  he  might  be  going.  It  must  have  been 
some  sudden  and  urgent  call  to  take  him  out  thus 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

in  the  middle  of  the  night.  For  the  first  time  she 
realized  what  his  life  meant.  He  could  never  really 
be  at  his  ease.  Always  there  was  before  him  the 
possibility  of  some  dread  adventure — death  might 
be  on  its  way  at  this  very  moment. 

Wide-awake  and  wrapped  in  her  great  rug,  she 
had  waited,  and  after  a  time  Richard  had  returned. 
The  dawn  was  rising  on  the  hills,  and  the  world  was 
pink.  His  head  was  up  and  he  was  urging  his 
horse  to  a  swift  gallop. 

When  at  last  he  reached  his  room,  she  had  gone 
to  bed.  But  when  she  slept  it  was  to  dream  that 
the  man  on  the  white  horse  was  riding  away  from 
her,  and  that  when  she  called  he  would  not  come. 

But  now  with  his  smile  upon  her,  she  decided  that 
she  was  making  too  much  of  it  all.  The  affair  with 
the  little  school-teacher  might  not  be  in  the  least 
serious.  Men  had  their  fancies,  and  Dicky  was  not 
a  fool. 

She  knew  her  power  over  him,  and  her  charm. 
His  little  boyhood  had  been  heavy  with  sorrow  and 
soberness  ;  she  had  lightened  it  by  her  gaiety  and 
good  nature.  Eve  had  taken  her  orphaned  state 
philosophically.  Her  parents  had  died  before  she 
knew  them.  Her  Aunt  Maude  was  rich  and  gave 
her  everything ;  she  was  queen  of  her  small  domain. 
Richard,  on  the  other  hand,  had  been  early  op- 
pressed by  anxieties — his  care  for  his  strong  little 
mother,  his  real  affection  for  his  weak  father,  oil- 

114 


A  GREEN-ETED  MONSTER 

minating  in  the  tragedy  which  had  come  during  his 
college  days.  In  all  the  years  Eve  had  been  his 
good  comrade  and  companion.  She  had  cheered 
him,  commanded  him,  loved  him. 

And  he  had  loved  her.  He  had  never  analyzed 
the  quality  of  his  love.  She  was  his  good  friend, 
his  sister.  If  he  had  ever  thought  of  her  as  his 
sweetheart  or  as  his  wife,  it  had  always  been  with 
the  feeling  that  Eve  had  too  much  money.  No  man 
had  a  right  to  live  on  his  wife's  bounty. 

He  had  a  genuinely  happy  day  with  her.  He 
showed  her  the  charming  old  house  which  she  had 
never  seen.  He  showed  her  the  schoolhouse,  still 
closed  on  account  of  the  epidemic.  He  showed  her 
the  ancient  ballroom  built  out  in  a  separate  wing. 

"  A  little  money  would  make  it  lovely,  Richard." 

"  It  is  lovely  without  the  money." 

Winifred  Ames  spoke  earnestly  from  the  window 
where,  with  her  husband's  arm  about  her,  she  was 
observing  the  sunset.  "  Some  day  Tony  and  I  are 
going  to  have  a  house  like  this — and  then  we'll  be 
happy." 

"Aren't  you  happy  now?"  her  husband  de- 
manded. 

"  Yes.  But  not  on  my  own  plan,  as  it  were." 
Then  softly  so  that  no  one  else  could  hear,  "  I  want 
just  you,  Tony — and  all  the  rest  of  the  world  away." 

"  Dear  Heart "  He  dared  not  say  more,  for 

Pip's  envious  eyes  were  upon  them. 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

"  When  I  marry  you,  Eve,  may  I  hold  your  hand 
in  public  ?  " 

"  You  may — when  I  marry  you." 

"  Good.  Whenever  I  lose  faith  in  the  bliss  of 
matrimony,  I  have  only  to  look  at  Win  and  Tony 
to  be  cheered  and  sustained  by  their  example." 

Nancy,  playing  the  little  lovely  hostess,  agreed. 
"  If  they  weren't  so  new-fashioned  in  every  way  I 
should  call  them  an  old-fashioned  couple." 

"  Love  is  never  out  of  fashion,  Mrs.  Nancy,"  said 
Eve  ;  "  is  it,  Dicky  Boy  ?  " 

"  Ask  Pip." 

"  Love,"  said  Philip  solemnly,  "  is  the  newest 
thing  in  the  world  and  the  oldest.  Each  lover  is  a 
Columbus  discovering  an  unknown  continent." 

In  the  hall  the  old  clock  chimed.  "  Nobody  is  to 
dress  for  dinner,"  Richard  said,  "  if  we  are  to  ride 
afterward.  I'll  telephone  for  the  horses." 

He  telephoned  and  rode  down  later  on  his  big 
Ben  to  bring  the  horses  up.  As  he  came  into  the 
yard  at  Bower's  he  saw  a  light  in  the  old  stable. 
Dismounting,  he  went  to  the  open  door.  Anne  was 
with  Diogenes.  The  lantern  was  set  on  the  step 
above  her,  and  she  was  feeding  the  old  drake.  Her 
body  was  in  the  shadow,  her  face  luminous.  Yet 
it  was  a  sober  little  face,  set  with  tired  lines.  Look- 
ing at  her,  Richard  reached  a  sudden  determina- 
tion. 

He  would  ask  her  to  ride  with  them  to  the  ridge. 
116 


A  GREEN-ETED  MONSTER 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice  she  turned  and  her  face 
changed.  "  Did  I  startle  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,"  she  smiled  at  him.  "  Only  I  was  thinking 
about  you,  and  there  you  were."  There  was  no 
coquetry  in  her  tone ;  she  stated  the  fact  frankly  and 
simply.  "  Do  you  remember  how  you  put  Toby  in 
here,  and  how  Diogenes  hated  it?" 

"I  remember  how  you  looked  under  the  lan- 
tern." 

"  Oh," — she  had  not  expected  that, — "  do  you  ?  " 

"  Yes.  But  I  had  seen  you  before.  You  were 
standing  on  a  rock  with  holly  in  your  arms.  I  saw 
you  from  the  train  throw  something  into  the  river. 
I  have  often  wondered  what  it  was." 

"  I  didn't  want  to  burn  my  holly  wreaths  after 
Christmas.  I  hate  to  burn  things  that  have  been 
alive." 

"So  do  I.  Eve  would  say  that  we  were  senti- 
mentalists. But  I  have  never  quite  been  able  to  see 
why  a  sentimentalist  isn't  quite  as  worthy  of  respect 
as  a  materialist — however,  I  am  not  here  to  argue 
that.  I  want  you  to  ride  with  me  to  the  ridge.  To 
see  the  foxes  by  moonlight,"  he  further  elucidated. 
"  Run  in  and  get  ready.  I  am  to  take  some  horses 
up  for  the  others." 

She  rose  and  reached  for  her  lantern.  "The 
others  ?  "  she  looked  an  inquiry  over  her  shoulder. 

"  Eve  and  her  crowd.  They  are  still  at  Cross- 
roads." 

117 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

She  stood  irresolute.  Then,  "  I  think  I'd  rather 
not  go." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  sharply. 

She  told  him  the  truth  bravely.  "  I  am  a  little 
afraid  of  women  like  that" 

"  Of  Eve  and  Winifred  ?     Why  ?  " 

"  We  are  people  of  two  worlds,  Dr.  Brooks — and 
they  feel  it." 

His  conversation  with  Eve  recurring  to  him,  he 
was  not  prepared  to  argue.  But  he  was  prepared  to 
have  his  own  way. 

"  Isn't  your  world  mine  ?  "  he  demanded.  "  And 
you  mustn't  mind  Eve.  She's  all  right  when  you 
know  her.  Just  stiffen  your  backbone,  and  remem- 
ber that  you  are  the  granddaughter  of  Cynthia 
Warfield." 

After  that  she  gave  in  and  came  down  presently 
in  a  shabby  little  habit  with  her  hair  tied  with  a 
black  bow.  "  It's  a  good  thing  it  is  dark,"  she  said. 
"  I  haven't  any  up-to-date  clothes." 

As  they  went  along  he  asked  her  to  go  to  the 
hunt  breakfast  on  Monday. 

"  I  can't.     School  opens  and  my  work  begins." 

"  By  Jove,  I  had  forgotten.  I  shall  be  glad  to 
hear  the  bell.  When  I  am  riding  over  the  hills  it 
seems  to  call — as  it  called  to  my  grandfather  and  to 
be  saying  the  same  things ;  it  is  a  great  inspiration 
to  have  a  background  like  that  to  one's  life.  Do 
you  know  what  I  mean?" 

118 


A  GREEN-ETED  MONSTER 

She  did  know,  and  they  talked  about  it — these  two 
young  and  eager  souls  to  whom  life  spoke  of  things 
to  be  done,  and  done  well. 

Eve,  standing  on  the  steps  at  Crossroads,  saw 
them  coming.  "  Oh,  I'm  not  going,"  she  said  to 
Winifred  passionately. 

"Why  not?" 

"  He  has  that  girl  with  him." 

"  What  girl  ?  " 

"  Anne  Warfield." 

Winifred's  eyes  opened  wide.  "  She's  a  darling, 
Eve.  I  liked  her  so  much  last  night." 

"  I  don't  see  why  he  has  to  bring  her  into  every- 
thing." 

"  All  the  men  are  in  love  with  her ;  even  Tony  has 
eyes  for  her,  and  Pip " 

"  What  makes  you  defend  her,  Win  ?  She  isn't 
one  of  us,  and  you  know  it." 

"  I  don't  know  it.  She  belongs  to  older  stock 
than  either  you  or  I,  Eve.  And  if  she  didn't,  don't 
you  know  a  lady  when  you  see  one  ?  " 

Eve  threw  up  her  hands.  "  I  sometimes  think 
the  world  is  going  mad — there  aren't  any  more  lines 
drawn." 

"  If  there  were,"  said  Winifred  softly,  and  perhaps 
a  bit  maliciously,  "  I  fancy  that  Anne  Warfield  might 
be  the  one  to  draw  them — and  leayje  us  on  the  wrong 
side,  Eve." 

It  was  Winifred  who  welcomed  Anne,  and  who 
119 


MISTRESS  4NNE 

rode  beside  her  later,  and  it  was  of  Winifred  that 
Anne  spoke  repentantly  as  she  and  Richard  rode 
together  in  the  hills.  "  I  want  to  take  back  the 
things  I  said  about  Mrs.  Ames.  She  is  just — 
heavenly  sweet." 

He  smiled.  "  I  knew  you  would  like  her,"  he 
said.  But  neither  of  them  mentioned  Eve. 

For  Evelyn's  manner  had  been  insufferable.  Anne 
might  have  been  a  shadow  on  the  grass,  a  cloud 
across  the  sky,  a  stone  in  the  road  for  all  the  notice 
she  had  taken  of  her.  It  was  a  childish  thing  to  do, 
but  then  Eve  was  childish.  And  she  was  having 
the  novel  experience  of  being  overlooked  for  the  first 
time  by  Richard.  She  was  aware,  too,  that  she  had 
offended  him  deeply  and  that  the  cause  of  her  offend- 
ing was  another  woman. 

When  they  came  to  the  ridge  Richard  drew  Anne's 
horse,  with  his  own,  among  the  trees.  He  left  Eve 
to  Pip.  Winifred  and  her  husband  were  with  David. 

Far  off  in  the  distance  a  steady  old  hound  gave 
tongue — then  came  the  music  of  the  pack — the 
swift  silent  figure  of  the  fox,  straight  across  the  open 
moonlighted  space  in  front  of  them. 

Anne  gave  a  little  gasp.  "  It  is  old  Pete,"  Richard 
murmured ;  "  they'll  never  catch  him.  I'll  tell  you 
about  him  on  the  way  down." 

So  as  he  rode  beside  her  after  that  perfect  hour  in 
which  the  old  fox  played  with  the  tumultuous  pack, 
at  his  ease,  monarch  of  his  domain,  unmindful  of 

120 


A  GREEN-ETED  MONSTER 

silent  watchers  in  the  shadows,  Richard  told  her  of  old 
Pete  ;  he  told  her,  too,  of  the  traditions  of  a  ghostly 
fox  who  now  and  then  troubled  the  hounds,  leading 
them  into  danger  and  sometimes  to  death. 

He  went  on  with  her  to  Bower's,  and  when  he 
left  her  he  handed  her  a  feathery  bit  of  pine.  "  I 
picked  it  on  the  ridge,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  know 
whether  you  feel  as  I  do  about  the  scrub  pines  of 
Maryland  and  of  Virginia ;  somehow  they  seem  to 
belong,  as  you  and  I  do,  to  this  country." 

When  Anne  went  to  her  room  she  stuck  the  bit 
of  pine  in  her  mirror.  Then  in  an  uplifted  mood 
she  wrote  to  Uncle  Rod.  But  she  said  little  to  him 
of  Richard  or  of  Eve.  Her  own  feelings  were  too 
mixed  in  the  matter  to  permit  of  analysis.  But  she 
told  of  the  fox  in  the  moonlight.  "  And  the  loveliest 
part  of  it  all  was  that  nothing  happened  to  him.  I 
don't  think  that  I  could  have  stood  it  to  have  had 
him  killed.  He  was  so  free — and  unafraid " 

The  next  nrght  Anne  in  the  long  front  room  at 
Bower's  told  Peggy  and  Frangois  all  about  it. 
Frangois'  mother  was  sewing  for  Mrs.  Bower,  and  as 
the  distance  was  great,  and  she  could  not  go  home 
at  night,  her  small  son  was  sharing  with  her  the 
hospitality  which  seemed  to  him  rich  and  royal  in 
comparison  with  the  economies  practised  in  his  own 
small  home. 

It  was  a  select  company  which  was  gathered  in 
121 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

front  of  the  fire.  Frangois  and  Peggy  and  Anne  and 
old  Mamie,  with  the  white  house  cat,  Josephine,  and 
three  kittens  in  a  basket,  and  Brinsley  Tyson  smok- 
ing his  pipe  in  the  background. 

"  And  the  old  fox  went  tit-upping  and  tit-upping 
along  the  road  in  the  moonlight,  and  Dr.  Richard 
and  I  stood  very  still,  and  we  saw  him " 

"  Last  night  ?  " 

Anne  nodded. 

"  And  what  did  you  do,  Miss  Anne  ?  " 

"  We  listened  and  heard  the  dogs " 

Little  Frangois  clasped  his  hands.  "  Oh,  were  the 
dogs  after  him  ?  " 

«  yes." 

"  Did  they  get  him  ?  " 

"  No.  He  is  a  wise  old  fox.  He  lives  up  beyond 
the  Crossroads  garden.  Dr.  Brooks  thought  when 
they  came  there  to  live  that  he  would  go  away  but 
he  hasn't.  You  see,  it  is  his  home.  The  hunters 
here  all  know  him,  and  they  are  always  glad  when 
he  gets  away." 

Brinsley  agreed.  "  There  are  so  few  native  foxes 
left  in  the  county  that  most  of  us  call  off  the  dogs 
before  a  killing — we'd  soon  be  without  sport  if  we 
didn't.  An  imported  fox  is  a  creature  in  a  trap  ;  you 
want  the  sly  old  natives  to  give  you  a  run  for  your 
money." 

Little  Francois,  dark-eyed  and  dreamy,  delivered 
an  energetic  opinion.  "  I  think  it  is  horrid." 

122 


A  GREEN-ETED  MONSTER 

Peggy,  less  sensitive,  and  of  the  country,  reproved 
him.  "  It's  gentleman's  sport,  isn't  it,  Mr.  Brinsley  ?  " 

"  Yes.  To  me  the  dogs  and  horses  are  the  best 
part  of  it.  The  older  I  grow  the  more  I  hate  to  kill — 
that's  why  I  fish.  They  are  cold-blooded  creatures." 

Peggy,  leaning  on  his  knee,  demanded  a  fish  story. 
"  The  one  you  told  us  the  last  time." 

Brinsley's  fish  story  was  a  poem  written  by  one  of 
the  Old  Gentlemen,  hunting  now,  it  was  to  be  hoped, 
in  happier  fields.  It  was  an  idyl  of  the  Chesapeake  : 

"  In  the  Chesapeake  and  its  tribute  streams, 
Where  broadening  out  to  the  bay  they  come, 
And  the  great  fresh  waters  meet  the  brine, 
There  lives  a  fish  that  is  called  the  drum." 

The  drum  fish  and  an  old  negro,  Ned,  were  the 
actors  in  the  drama.  Ned,  fishing  one  day  in  his 
dug-out  canoe, 

"  Tied  his  line  to  his  ankle  tight, 
To  be  ready  to  haul  if  the  fish  should  bite, 
And  seized  his  fiddle " 

He  played  : 

"  But  slower  and  slower  he  drew  the  bow, 
And  soft  grew  the  music  sweet  and  low, 
The  lids  fell  wearily  over  the  eyes, 
The  bow  arm  stopped  and  the  melodies. 
The  last  strain  melted  along  the  deep, 
And  Ned,  the  old  fisherman,  sank  to  sleep. 
Just  then  a  huge  drum,  sent  hither  by  fate, 
Caught  a  passing  glimpse  of  the  tempting  bait.     .     .     . 

123 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

.     .     .     .     One  terrible  jerk  of  wrath  and  dread 

From  the  wounded  fish  as  away  he  sped 

With  a  strength  by  rage  made  double  — 

And  into  the  water  went  old  Ned. 

No  time  for  any  « last  words '  to  be  said, 

For  the  waves  settled  placidly  over  his  head, 

And  his  last  remark  was  a  bubble." 

The  children's  eyes  were  wide.  Peggy  was  en- 
tranced, but  Frangois  was  not  so  sure  that  he  liked 
it.  Brinsley's  hand  dropped  on  the  little  lad's  shoul- 
der as  he  told  how  the  two  were  found 

"  So  looped  and  tangled  together 
That  their  fate  was  involved  in  a  dark  mystery 
As  to  which  was  the  catcher  and  which  the 

catchee     .     .     . 
And  the  fishermen  thought  it  could  never  be 

known 

After  all  their  thinking  and  figuring, 
Whether  the  nigger  a-fishing  had  gone, 
Or  the  fish  had  gone  out  a-niggering." 

There  were  defects  in  meter  and  rhythm,  but 
Brinsley's  sprightly  delivery  made  these  of  minor 
importance,  and  the  company  had  no  criticism. 
Frangois,  shivering  a  little,  admitted  that  he  wanted 
to  hear  it  again,  and  climbed  to  Brinsley's  knee. 
The  old  man  with  his  arm  about  him  decided  that  to 
say  it  over  would  be  to  spoil  the  charm,  and  that 
anyhow  the  time  had  come  to  pop  the  corn. 

To  Frangois  this  was  a  new  art,  but  when  he  had 
followed  the  fascinating  process  through  all  its  stages 
until  the  white  grains  boiled  up  in  the  popper  and 

124 


A  GREEN-ETED  MONSTER 

threatened  to  burst  the  cover,  his  rapture  knew  no 
bounds. 

"Could  I  do  it  myself,  Miss  Anne?"  he  asked, 
and  she  let  him  empty  the  snowy  kernels  into  a  big 
bowl,  and  fill  the  popper  for  a  second  supply. 

She  bent  above  him,  showing  him  how  to  shake  it 
steadily. 

Geoffrey  Fox  coming  in  smiled  at  the  scene. 
How  far  away  it  seemed  from  anything  modern — 
this  wide  hearth-stone  with  the  dog  and  the  pussy 
cat — and  the  little  children,  the  lovely  girl  and  the 
old  man — the  wind  blowing  outside — the  corn  pop- 
ping away  like  little  pistols. 

"  May  I  have  some  ?  "  he  asked,  and  Anne  smiled 
up  at  him,  while  Peggy  brought  little  plates  and  set 
the  big  bowl  on  a  stool  within  reach  of  them  all. 

"What  brings  you  up,  sir?"  Geoffrey  asked 
Brinsley. 

"  The  drag-hunt  and  breakfast  at  the  club.  I  am 
too  stiff  to  follow,  but  David  and  I  like  to  meet  old 
friends — you  see  I  was  born  in  this  country." 

That  was  the  beginning  of  a  string  of  reminis- 
cences to  which  they  all  listened  breathlessly.  The 
fox  hunting  instinct  was  an  inheritance  in  this  part 
of  the  country.  It  had  its  traditions  and  legends 
and  Brinsley  knew  them  all. 

If  any  one  had  told  Geoffrey  Fox  a  few  weeks 
before  that  he  would  be  content  to  spend  his  time  as 
he  was  spending  it  now,  writing  all  day  and  reading 

125 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

the  chapters  at  night  to  a  serious-eyed  little  school- 
teacher who  scolded  him  and  encouraged  him  by 
turns,  he  would  have  scoffed  at  such  an  impossible 
prospect.  Yet  he  was  not  only  doing  it,  but  was 
glad  to  be  swept  away  from  the  atmosphere  of  some- 
what sordid  Bohemianism  with  which  he  had  in 
these  later  years  been  surrounded. 

And  as  Brinsley  talked,  Geoffrey  watched  Anne. 
She  had  Peggy  in  her  arms.  Such  women  were 
made,  he  felt,  to  be  not  only  the  mothers  of  children, 
but  the  mothers  of  the  men  they  loved — made  for 
brooding  tenderness — to  inspire — to  sympathize. 

Yet  with  all  her  gentleness  he  knew  that  Anne  was 
a  strong  little  thing.  She  would  never  be  a  clinging 
vine ;  she  was  rather  like  a  rose  high  on  a  trellis — 
a  man  must  reach  up  to  draw  her  to  him. 

As  she  glanced  up,  he  smiled  at  her,  and  she 
smiled  back.  Then  the  smile  froze. 

Framed  in  the  front  doorway  stood  Eve  Chesley  1 
She  came  straight  to  Anne  and  held  out  her  hand. 
"  I  made  Richard  bring  me  down,"  she  said.  "  I 
want  to  talk  to  you  about  the  Crossroads  ball." 

Eve  repentant  was  Eve  in  her  most  charming 
mood.  On  Sunday  morning  she  had  apologized  to 
Richard.  "  I  was  horrid,  Dicky." 

"Last  night?  You  were.  I  wouldn't  have  be- 
lieved it  of  you,  Eve." 

"Oh,  well,  don't  be  a  prig.  Do  you  remember 
how  we  used  to  make  up  after  a  quarrel  ? " 

126 


A  GREEN-ETED  MONSTER 

He  laughed.  "  We  had  to  go  down  on  our 
knees." 

She  went  down  on  hers,  sinking  slowly  and  grace- 
fully to  the  floor.  "  Please,  I'm  sorry." 

"  Eve,  will  you  ever  grow  up  ?  " 

"I  don't  want  to  grow  up,"  wistfully.  "Dicky, 
do  you  remember  that  after  I  had  said  I  was  sorry 
you  always  bought  chocolate  drops,  and  made  me 
eat  them  all.  You  were  such  a  good  little  boy, 
Richard." 

"  I  was  not,"  hotly. 

"  Why  is  it  that  men  don't  like  to  be  told  that 
they  were  good  little  boys  ?  You  are  a  good  little 
boy  now." 

"  I'm  not." 

"You  are — and  you  are  tied  to  your  mother's 
apron  strings." 

"  Dicky,"  she  wailed,  as  he  rose  in  wrath,  "  I 
didn't  mean  that.  Honestly.  And  I'll  be  good." 

Still,  with  her  feet  tucked  under  her,  she  sat  on 
the  floor.  "  I've  been  thinking " 

"  Yes,  Eve." 

"  You  and  I  have  a  birthday  in  March.  Why 
can't  we  have  a  big  house-warming,  and  ask  all  the 
county  families  and  a  lot  of  people  from  town  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  a  millionaire,  Eve." 

"  Neither  am  I.     But  there's  always  Aunt  Maude." 

She  spread  out  her  hands,  palms  upward.  "All  I 
shall  have  to  do  is  to  wheedle  her  a  bit,  and  she'll 

127 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

give  it  to  me  for  a  birthday  present.  Please,  Dicky. 
If  you  say  '  yes '  I'll  go  down  to  Bower's  my  very 
own  self  and  ask  Anne  Warfield  to  come  to  our 
ball." 

He  stared  at  her  incredulously.  "You'll  do 
what  ?  " 

"  Ask  your  little — school-teacher.  Win  scolded  me 
last  night,  and  said  that  I  was  a  selfish  pig.  That  I 
couldn't  expect  to  keep  you  always  to  myself.  But 
you  see  I  have  kept  you,  Dicky.  I  have  always 
thought  that  you  and  I  could  go  on  being — friends, 
with  no  one  to  break  in  on  it." 

Her  eyes  as  she  raised  them  to  his  were  shadowed. 
He  spoke  heartily.  "  My  dear  girl,  as  if  anything 
could  ever  come  between  us."  He  rose  and  drew 
her  up  from  her  lowly  seat.  "  I'm  glad  we  talked  it 
out.  I  confess  I  was  feeling  pretty  sore  over  the 
way  you  acted,  Eve.  It  wasn't  like  you." 

Eve  stuck  to  her  resolution  to  go  to  Bower's 
to  seek  out  and  conciliate  Anne,  and  thus  it  hap- 
pened that  they  found  her  making  a  Madonna  of 
herself  with  Peggy  in  her  arms,  and  Geoffrey  Fox's 
eyes  adoring  her. 

Little  Francois  told  his  mother  later  that  at  first  he 
had  thought  the  lovely  lady  was  a  fairy  princess ;  for 
Eve  was  quite  sumptuous  in  her  dinner  gown  of 
white  and  shining  satin,  with  a  fur-trimmed  wrap 
of  white  and  silver.  She  wore,  also,  a  princess  air 
of  graciousness,  quite  different  from  the  half  appeal- 

128 


A  GREEN-ETED  MONSTER 

ing  impertinence  of  her  morning  mood  when  she  had 
knelt  at  Richard's  feet. 

Anne,  appeased  and  fascinated  by  the  warmth  of 
Eve's  manner,  found  herself  drawn  in  spite  of  her- 
self to  the  charming  creature  who  discussed  so  frankly 
her  plans  for  their  pleasure. 

"  Dicky  and  I  were  born  on  the  same  day,"  she 
explained,  "and  we  always  have  a  party  together, 
with  two  cakes  with  candles,  and  this  year  it  is  to  be 
at  Crossroads." 

She  invited  Brinsley  and  Geoffrey  on  the  spot, 
and  promised  the  children  a  peep  into  fairy-land. 
Then  having  settled  the  matter  to  the  satisfaction  of 
all  concerned,  she  demanded  a  fresh  popper  of  corn, 
insisted  on  a  repetition  of  Brinsley's  fish  story,  asked 
about  Geoffrey's  book,  and  went  away  leaving  be- 
hind her  a  trail  of  laughter  and  light-heartedness. 

Later  Anne  was  aware  that  she  had  left  also  a  feel- 
ing of  bewilderment.  It  seemed  incredible  that  the 
distance  between  the  mood  of  last  night  and  of  to- 
night should  have  been  bridged  so  successfully. 

Brushing  her  hair  in  front  of  the  mirror,  she  asked 
herself,  "  How  much  of  it  was  real  friendliness  ? " 
Uncle  Rod  had  a  proverb,  " '  A  false  friend  has 
honey  in  his  mouth,  gall  in  his  heart?  ' 

She  chided  herself  for  her  mistrust.  One  must  not 
inquire  too  much  into  motives. 

The  sight  of  Richard's  bit  of  pine  in  the  mirror 
frame  shed  a  gleam  of  naturalness  across  the  strange- 

129 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

ness  of  the  hour  just  spent.     It  seemed  to  say,  "  You 

and  I  of  the  country " 

Eve  was  of  the  town  1 

The  weeks  which  followed  were  rare  ones.  Anne 
went  forth  joyous  in  the  morning,  and  came  home 
joyous  at  night  She  saw  Richard  daily  ;  now  on 
the  road,  again  in  the  schoolhouse,  less  often,  but 
most  satisfyingly,  by  the  fire  at  Bower's. 

Geoffrey,  noting  jealously  these  evenings  that 
the  young  doctor  spent  in  the  long  front  room,  at 
last  spoke  his  mind. 

"  What  makes  you  look  like  that?"  he  demanded, 
as  having  watched  Richard  safely  out  of  the  way 
from  an  upper  window,  he  came  down  to  find  Anne 
gazing  dreamily  into  the  coals. 

"Like  what?" 

"  Oh,  a  sort  of  seventh-heaven  look." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean." 

"  You  won't  admit  that  you  know  what  I  mean." 

She  rose. 

"  Sit  down.     I  want  to  read  to  you." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  haven't  time." 

"  You  had  time  for  Brooks.  If  you  don't  let  me 
read  to  you  I  shall  have  to  sit  all  alone — in  the 
dark — my  eyes  are  hurting  me." 

"  Why  don't  you  ask  Dr.  Brooks  about  your 
eyes  ?  " 

"  Is  Dr.  Brooks  the  oracle  ?  " 
130 


A  GREEN-EYED  MONSTER 

"  He  could  tell  you  about  your  eyes." 

"  Does  he  tell  you  about  yours  ?  " 

With  a  scornful  glance  she  left  him,  but  he  fol- 
lowed her.  "  Why  shouldn't  he  tell  you  about  your 
eyes?  They  are  lovely  eyes,  Mistress  Anne." 

"  I  hate  to  have  you  talk  like  that.  It  seems  to 
separate  me  in  some  way  from  your  friendship,  and 
I  thought  we  were  friends." 

Her  gentleness  conquered  his  mad  mood.  "  Oh, 
you  little  saint,  you  little  saint,  and  I  am  such  a 
sinner." 

So  they  patched  it  up,  and  he  read  to  her  the  last 
chapter  of  his  book. 

"  And  noiv  in  the  darkness  they  lay  dying,  young 
Frans  from  Nuremberg,  and  young  George  from 
London,  and  Michel  straight  from  the  vineyards  on 
the  coast  of  France" 

In  the  darkness  they  spoke  of  their  souls.  Soon 
they  would  go  out  into  the  Great  Beyond.  What 
then,  after  death  ?  Franz  thought  they  might  go 
marching  on.  Young  George  had  a  vision  of  green 
fields  and  of  hawthorn  hedges.  But  it  was  young 
Michel  who  spoke  of  the  face  of  God. 

Was  this  the  Geoffrey  who  had  teased  her  on  the 
stairs  ?  This  man  who  wrote  words  which  made  one 
shake  and  shiver  and  sob  ? 

"  Oh,  how  do  you  do  it,  how  do  you  do  it  ?  "  The 
tears  were  running  down  her  cheeks. 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

She  saw  him  then  as  people  rarely  saw  Geoffrey 
Fox.  "  God  knows,"  he  said,  seriously,  "  but  I  think 
that  your  prayers  have  helped." 

And  after  she  had  gone  up-stairs  he  sat  long  by 
the  fire,  alone,  with  his  hand  shading  his  eyes. 

The  next  morning  he  went  to  see  Richard.  The 
young  doctor  was  in  the  Garden  Room  which  he 
used  as  an  office.  It  was  on  the  ground  floor  of  the 
big  house,  with  a  deer's  horns  over  the  fireplace,  an 
ancient  desk  in  one  corner,  a  sideboard  against  the 
north  wall.  In  days  gone  by  this  room  had  served 
many  purposes.  Here  men  in  hunting  pink  had 
gathered  for  the  gay  breakfasts  which  were  to  fortify 
them  for  their  sport.  On  the  sideboard  mighty 
roasts  had  been  carved,  and  hot  dishes  had  steamed. 
On  the  round  table  had  been  set  forth  bottles  and 
glasses  on  Sheffield  trays.  Men  ate  much  and  rode 
hard.  They  had  left  to  their  descendants  a  divided 
heritage  of  indigestion  and  of  strong  sinews,  to  make 
of  it  what  they  could. 

Geoffrey  entering  asked  at  once,  "  Why  the 
Garden  Room  ?  There  is  no  garden." 

"  There  was  a  garden,"  Richard  told  him,  "  but 
there  is  a  tradition  that  a  pair  of  lovers  eloped 
over  the  wall,  and  the  irate  father  destroyed  every 
flower,  every  shrub,  as  if  the  garden  had  betrayed 
him." 

"  There's  a  story  in  that.  Did  the  girl  ever  come 
back  to  find  the  garden  dead  ?  " 

132 


A  GREEN-ETED  MONSTER 

"Who  knows?"  Richard  said  lightly;  "and  now, 
what's  the  matter  with  your  eyes  ?  " 

There  was  much  the  matter,  and  when  Richard 
had  made  a  thorough  examination  he  spoke  of  a 
specialist.  "  Have  you  ever  had  trouble  with  them 
before  ?  " 

"  Once,  when  I  was  a  youngster.  I  thought  I  was 
losing  my  sight.  I  used  to  open  my  eyes  in  the 
dark  and  think  that  the  curse  had  come  upon  me. 
My  grandfather  was  blind." 

"  It  is  rarely  inherited,  and  not  in  this  form.  But 
there  might  be  a  predisposition.  Anyhow,  you'll 
have  to  stop  work  for  a  time." 

"  I  can't  stop  work.  My  book  is  in  the  last  chap- 
ters. And  it  is  a  great  book.  I've  never  written  a 
great  book  before.  I  can  talk  freely  to  you,  doctor. 
You  know  that  we  artists  can't  help  our  egotism. 
It's  a  disease  that  is  easily  diagnosed." 

Richard  laughed.  "  What's  the  name  of  your 
book  ?  " 

" '  Three  Souls.'  Anne  Warfield  gave  me  the 
theme." 

As  he  spoke  her  name  it  was  like  a  living  flame 
between  them.  Richard  tried  to  answer  naturally. 
"She  ought  to  be  able  to. write  books  herself." 

Geoffrey  shrugged.  "She  will  live  her  life  stories, 
not  write  them." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  we  men  don't  let  such  women  live  their 
133 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

own  lives.  We  demand  their  service  and  the  in- 
spiration of  their  sympathy.  And  so  we  won't  let 
them  achieve.  We  make  them  light  our  torches. 
We  are  selfish  beasts,  you  know,  in  the  last  anal- 
ysis." 

He  laughed  and  rose.  "  I'll  see  a  specialist.  But 
nobody  shall  make  me  stop  writing.  Not  till  I  have 
scribbled  '  Finis '  to  my  manuscript." 

"  It  isn't  well  to  defy  nature." 

"  Defiance  is  better  than  submission.  Nature's  a 
cruel  jade.  You  know  that.  In  the  end  she  gets  us 
all.  That's  why  I  hate  the  country.  It's  there  that 
we  see  Nature  unmasked.  I  stayed  three  weeks  at 
a  farm  last  summer,  and  from  morning  to  night 
murder  went  on.  A  cat  killed  a  cardinal,  and  a  blue 
jay  killed  a  grosbeak.  One  of  the  servants  shot  a 
squirrel.  And  when  I  walked  out  one  morning  to 
see  the  sheep,  a  lamb  was  gone  and  we  had  a  roast 
with  mint  sauce  for  dinner.  For  lunch  we  had  the 
squirrel  in  a  stew.  A  hawk  swept  down  upon  the 
chickens,  and  all  that  escaped  we  ate  later  fried, 
with  cream  gravy." 

"  In  most  of  your  instances  man  was  the  offender." 

"Well,  if  man  didn't  kill,  something  else  would. 
For  every  lamb  there's  a  wolf." 

"  You  are  looking  on  only  one  side  of  it." 

"  When  you  can  show  me  the  other  I'll  believe  in 
it.  But  not  to-day  when  you  tell  me  that  my  sun 
may  be  blotted  out." 

134 


A  GREEN-ETED  MONSTER 

Something  in  his  voice  made  the  young  doctor 
lay  his  hand  on  his  shoulder  and  say  quietly  :  "  My 
dear  fellow,  don't  begin  to  dread  that  which  may 
never  come.  There  should  be  years  of  light  before 
you.  Only  you'll  have  to  be  careful." 

They  stood  now  in  the  door  of  the  Garden  Room. 
The  sun  was  shining,  the  snow  was  melting.  There 
was  the  acrid  smell  of  box  from  the  hedge  beyond. 

"  I  hate  caution,"  said  young  Geoffrey  ;  "  I  want 
to  do  as  I  please." 

"  So  does  every  man,"  said  Richard,  "  but  life 
teaches  him  that  he  can't." 

"  Oh,  Life,"  scoffed  Geoffrey  Fox  ;  "  life  isn't  a 
school.  It  is  a  joy  ride,  with  rocks  ahead." 


135 


CHAPTER  IX 
In  Which  Anne,  Passing  a  Shop,  Turns  In. 

ANNE  had  the  Crossroads  ball  much  on  her 
mind.  She  spoke  to  Beulah  about  it. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  wear." 

"  You'd  better  go  to  town  with  me  on  Saturday 
and  look  for  something." 

"  Perhaps  I  will.  If  I  had  plenty  of  money  it 
would  be  easy.  Beulah,  did  you  ever  see  such 
clothes  as  Eve  Chesley's?" 

"  If  I  could  spend  as  much  as  she  does,  I'd  make 
more  of  a  show." 

"  Think  of  all  the  tailors  and  dressmakers  and 
dancing  masters  and  hair-dressers  it  has  taken  to 
make  Eve  what  she  is.  And  yet  all  the  art  is 
hidden." 

"  I  don't  think  it  is  hidden.  I  saw  her  powder  her 
nose  right  in  front  of  the  men  that  day  she  first 
came.  She  had  a  little  gold  case  with  a  mirror  in 
it,  and  while  Dr.  Brooks  and  Mr.  Fox  were  sitting 
on  the  stairs  with  her,  she  took  it  out  and  looked  at 
herself  and  rubbed  some  rouge  on  her  cheeks." 

Anne  had  a  vision  of  the  three  of  them  sitting 
136 


PASSING  A  SHOP 

on  the  stairs.  "Well,"  she  said,  in  a  fierce  little 
fashion,  "  I  don't  know  what  the  world  is  coming 
to." 

Beulah  cared  little  about  Eve's  world.  For  the 
moment  Eric  filled  her  horizon,  and  the  dress  she 
was  to  get  to  make  herself  pretty  for  him. 

"Shall  we  go  Saturday?"  she  asked. 

Anne,  rummaging  in  the  drawer  of  her  desk, 
produced  a  small  and  shabby  pocketbook.  She 
shook  the  money  out  and  counted  it.  "  With  the 
check  that  Uncle  Rod  sent  me,"  she  said,  "  there's 
enough  for  a  really  lovely  frock.  But  I  don't  know 
whether  I  ought  to  spend  it." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"Everybody  ought  to  save  something — I  am 
teaching  my  children  to  have  penny  banks — and 
yet  I  go  on  spending  and  spending  with  nothing  to 
show  for  it." 

Beulah  was  quite  placid.  "I  don't  see  why  you 
should  save.  Some  day  you  will  get  married,  and 
then  you  won't  have  to." 

"  If  a  woman  marries  a  poor  man  she  ought  to  be 
careful  of  finances.  She  has  to  think  of  her  children 
and  of  their  future." 

Beulah  shrugged.  "  What's  the  use  of  looking  so 
far  ahead  ?  And  'most  any  husband  will  see  that  his 
wife  doesn't  get  too  much  to  spend." 

Before  Anne  went  to  bed  that  night  she  put  a  part 
of  her  small  store  of  money  into  a  separate  compart- 

137 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

ment  of  her  purse.  She  would  buy  a  cheaper  frock 
and  save  herself  the  afterpangs  of  extravagance 
And  the  penny  banks  of  the  children  would  no 
longer  accuse  her  of  inconsistency  1 

The  shopping  expedition  proved  a  strenuous  one. 
Anne  had  fixed  her  mind  on  certain  things  which 
proved  to  be  too  expensive.  "You  go  for  your 
fitting,"  she  said  to  Beulah  desperately,  as  the  after- 
noon waned,  "  and  I  will  take  a  last  look  up  Charles 
Street.  We  can  meet  at  the  train." 

The  way  which  she  had  to  travel  was  a  familiar 
one,  but  its  charm  held  her — the  street  lights  glim- 
mered pale  gold  in  the  early  dusk,  the  crowd  swung 
along  in  its  brisk  city  manner  toward  home.  Beyond 
the  shops  was  the  Cardinal's  house.  The  Monument 
topped  the  hill ;  to  its  left  the  bronze  lions  guarded 
the  great  square ;  to  the  right  there  was  the  thin 
spire  of  the  Methodist  Church. 

She  had  an  hour  before  train  time  and  she  lingered 
a  little,  stopping  at  this  window  and  that,  and  all  the 
time  the  money  which  she  had  elected  to  save  burned 
a  hole  in  her  pocket. 

For  there  were  such  things  to  buy  I  Passing  a 
flower  shop  there  were  violets  and  roses.  Passing 
a  candy  shop  were  chocolates.  Passing  a  hat  shop 
there  was  a  veil  flung  like  a  cloud  over  a  celestial  cha- 
peau !  Passing  an  Everything-that-is-Lovely  shop 
she  saw  an  enchanting  length  of  silk — as  pink  as  a 
sea-shell — silk  like  that  which  Cynthia  Warfield  had 

138 


PASSING  A  SHOP 

worn  when  she  sat  for  the  portrait  which  hung  in 
the  library  at  Crossroads  1 

Anne  did  not  pass  the  Lovely  Shop ;  she  turned 
and  went  in,  and  bought  ten  yards  of  silk  with  the 
money  that  she  had  meant  to  spend — and  the  money 
she  had  meant  to  save  1 

And  she  missed  the  train  ! 

Beulah  was  waiting  for  her  as  she  came  in  breath- 
less. "There  isn't  another  train  for  two  hours,"  she 
complained. 

Anne  sank  down  on  a  bench.  "  I  am  sorry, 
Beulah.  I  didn't  know  it  was  so  late." 

"  We'll  have  to  get  supper  in  the  station,"  Beulah 
said,  "  and  I  have  spent  all  my  money." 

"  Oh,  and  I've  spent  mine."  Anne  reflected  that 
if  she  had  not  bought  the  silk  she  could  have  paid 
for  Beulah's  supper.  But  she  was  glad  that  she  had 
bought  it,  and  that  she  had  it  under  her  arm  in  a 
neat  package. 

She  dug  into  her  slim  purse  and  produced  a  dime. 
"  Never  mind,  Beulah,  we  can  buy  some  chocolates." 

But  they  were  not  destined  for  such  meager  fare. 
Rushing  into  the  station  came  Geoffrey  Fox.  As  he 
saw  the  clock  he  stopped  with  the  air  of  a  man 
baffled  by  fate. 

Anne  moving  toward  him  across  the  intervening 
space  saw  his  face  change. 

"  By  all  that's  wonderful,"  he  said,  "  how  did  this 
happen?" 

139 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

44  We  missed  our  train." 

41  And  I  missed  mine.     Who  is  4  we '  ?  " 

"  Beulah  is  with  me." 

41  Can't  you  both  have  dinner  with  me  somewhere  ? 
There  are  two  hours  of  waiting  ahead  of  us." 

Anne  demurred.     "  I'm  not  very  hungry." 

But  Beulah,  who  had  joined  them,  was  hungry, 
and  she  said  so,  frankly.  "  I  am  starved.  If  I  could 
have  just  a  sandwich " 

44  You  shall  have  more  than  that.  We'll  have  a 
feast  and  a  frolic.  Let  me  check  your  parcels, 
Mistress  Anne." 

Back  they  went  to  the  golden-lighted  streets  and 
turning  down  toward  the  city  they  reached  at  last 
the  big  hotel  which  has  usurped  the  place  of  the 
stately  and  substantial  edifices  which  were  once  the 
abodes  of  ancient  and  honorable  families. 

Within  were  soft  lights  and  the  sound  of  music. 
The  rugs  were  thick,  and  there  was  much  marble. 
As  they  entered  the  dining-room,  they  seemed  to 
move  through  a  golden  haze.  It  was  early,  and  most 
of  the  tables  were  empty. 

Beulah  was  rapturous.  44 1  have  always  wanted  to 
come  here.  It  is  perfectly  lovely." 

The  attentive  waiter  at  Geoffrey's  elbow  was  being 

told  to  bring Anne's   quick   ear  caught  the 

word. 

44  No,  please,"  she  said  at  once,  4<  not  for  Beulah 
and  me." 

140 


PASSING  A  SHOP 

His  keen  glance  commanded  her.  "Of  course 
not,"  he  said,  easily.  Presently  he  had  the  whole 
matter  of  the  menu  settled,  and  could  talk  to  Anne. 
She  was  enjoying  it  all  immensely  and  said  so. 

"  I  should  like  to  do  this  sort  of  thing  every  day." 

"  Heaven  forbid.  You  would  lose  your  dreams, 
and  grow  self-satisfied — and  fat — like  that  woman 
over  there." 

Anne  shuddered.  "It  isn't  that  she  is  fat — it's 
her  eyes,  and  the  way  she  makes  up." 

"  That  is  the  way  they  get  when  they  live  in 
places  like  this.  If  you  want  to  be  slender  and 
lovely  and  keep  your  dreams  you  must  teach 
school." 

"  Oh,  but  there's  drudgery  in  that." 

"  It  is  the  people  who  drudge  who  dream.  They 
don't  know  it,  but  they  do.  People  who  have  all 
they  want  learn  that  there  is  nothing  more  for  life  to 
give.  And  they  drink  and  take  drugs  to  bring  back 
the  illusions  they  have  lost." 

They  fell  into  silence  after  that,  and  then  it  was 
Beulah  who  became  voluble.  Her  fair  round  face 
beamed.  It  was  a  common  little  face,  but  it  was 
good  and  honest.  Beulah  was  having  the  time  of 
her  life.  She  did  not  know  that  she  owed  her  good 
fortune  to  Anne,  that  if  Anne  had  not  been  there, 
Geoffrey  would  not  have  asked  her  to  dine.  But 
if  she  had  known  it,  she  would  not  have  cared. 

"  What  train  did  you  come  in  on  ?  "  she  asked. 
141 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

"  At  noon.  Brooks  thought  I  ought  to  see  a 
specialist.  He  doesn't  give  me  much  encourage- 
ment about  my  eyes.  He  wants  me  to  stop  writing, 
but  I  shan't  until  I  get  through  with  my  book." 

He  spoke  recklessly,  but  Anne  saw  the  shadow  on 
his  face.  "  You  aren't  telling  us  how  really  serious  it 
is,"  she  said,  as  Beulah's  attention  was  diverted. 

"  It  is  so  serious  that  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  I 
know  myself  to  be — a  coward.  Last  night  I  lay  in 
bed  with  my  eyes  shut  to  see  how  it  would  seem  to 
be  blind.  It  was  a  pretty  morbid  thing  to  do — and 
this  morning  finished  me." 

She  tried  to  speak  her  sympathy,  but  could  not. 
Her  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

"  Don't,"  he  said,  softly,  "  my  good  little  friend — 
my  good  little  friend." 

She  dabbed  her  eyes  with  her  handkerchief.  The 
unconscious  Beulah,  busy  with  her  oysters,  asked  : 
"Is  the  Tobasco  too  hot?  I'm  all  burning  up  with 
it." 

Geoffrey  was  able  later  to  speak  lightly  of  his 
affliction.  "I  shall  go  to  the  Brooks  ball  as  a  Blind 
Beggar." 

"  Oh,  how  can  you  make  fun  of  it  ?  " 

"  It  is  better  to  laugh  than  to  cry.  But  your  tears 
were — a  benediction." 

Silence  fell  between  them,  and  after  a  while  he 
asked,  "  What  shall  you  wear  ?  " 

"  To  the  ball  ?  Pink  silk.  A  heavenly  pink.  I 
142 


PASSING  A  SHOP 

have  just  bought  it,  and  I  paid  more  than  I  should 
for  it." 

"  Such  extravagance  I " 

"  I'm  to  be  Cynthia  Warfield — like  the  portrait  in 
the  Crossroads  library  of  my  grandmother.  It  came 
to  me  when  I  saw  the  silk  in  the  shop  window.  I 
shall  have  to  do  without  the  pearls,  but  I  have  the 
lace  flounces.  They  were  left  to  my  mother." 

"  And  so  Cinderella  will  go  to  the  ball,  and  dance 
with  the  Prince.  Is  Brooks  the  Prince  ?  " 

She  flushed,  and  evaded.  "  I  can't  dance  Not 
the  new  dances." 

"  I  can  teach  you  if  you'll  let  me." 

"Really?" 

"Yes.  But  you  must  pay.  You  must  give  the 
Blind  Beggar  the  first  dance  and  as  many  more  as 
he  demands." 

"  But  I  can't  dance  all  of  them  with  you." 

"  You  can  dance  some  of  them.  And  that's  my 
price." 

To  promise  him  dances  seemed  to  her  quite  de- 
licious and  delightful  since  she  could  not  dance  at 
all.  But  he  made  a  little  contract  and  had  her  sign 
it,  and  put  it  in  his  pocket. 

Going  home  Anne  had  little  to  say.  It  was  Geoffrey 
who  talked,  while  Beulah  slept  in  a  seat  by  herself. 

Anne  made  her  own  lovely  gown,  running  over 
now  and  then  to  take  surreptitious  peeps  at  Cynthia's 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

portrait.  She  had  let  Mrs.  Brooks  into  her  secret, 
and  the  little  lady  was  enthusiastic. 

"  You  shall  wear  my  pearls,  my  dear.  They  will 
be  very  effective  in  your  dark  hair." 

She  brought  the  jewels  down  in  an  old  blue  velvet 
box — milk-white  against  a  yellowed  satin  lining. 

"  My  father  gave  them  to  me  on  my  wedding  day. 
Some  day  I  shall  give  them  to  Richard's  wife." 

She  could  not  know  how  her  words  stirred  the 
heart  of  the  girl  who  stood  looking  so  quietly  down 
at  the  pearls. 

"  I  am  almost  afraid  to  wear  them,"  Anne  said 
breathlessly.  She  gave  Nancy  a  shy  little  kiss. 
"  You  were  dear  to  think  of  it." 

And  now  busy  days  were  upon  her.  There  was 
the  school  with  Richard  running  in  after  closing  time, 
and  staying,  too,  and  keeping  her  from  the  work 
that  was  waiting  at  home.  Then  at  twilight  a 
dancing  lesson  with  Geoffrey  in  the  long  front  room, 
with  Beulah  playing  audience  and  sometimes  Eric, 
and  with  Peggy  capering  madly  to  the  music. 

Then  the  evening,  with  its  enchanting  task  of 
stitching  on  yards  of  rosy  silk.  Usually  Geoffrey 
read  to  her  while  she  worked.  His  story  was  near- 
ing  the  end.  He  was  wearing  heavy  goggles  which 
gave  him  an  owl-like  appearance,  of  which  he  com- 
plained. 

"It  spoils  my  beauty,  Mistress  Anne.  I  am  just 
an  ugly  gnome  who  sits  at  the  feet  of  the  Princess." 

144 


PASSING  A  SHOP 

"  You  are  not  ugly,  and  you  know  it.  And  men 
shouldn't  be  vain." 

"  We  are  worse  than  women.  Do  you  know  what 
you  look  like  with  all  that  silk  around  you  ?" 

"No." 

"  Like  Aurora.  Do  you  remember  that  Stevenson 
speaks  of  a  '  pink  dawn '  ?  Well,  you  are  a  pink 
dawn." 

"  Please  stop  talking  about  me,  and  read  your  last 
chapter.  I  am  so  glad  that  you  have  reached  the 
end." 

"  Because  you  are  tired  of  hearing  it  ?  " 

"  Because  of  your  poor  eyes." 

He  took  off  his  goggles.  "  Do  my  eyes  look  dif- 
ferent ?  Are  they  changed  or — dim  ?  " 

"  They  are  as  bright  as  stars,"  and  he  sighed  with 
relief. 

"And  now  if  was  young  Michel  who  whispered, 
'  God  is  good  !  In  a  moment  we  shall  see  his  face, 
and  we  shall  say  to  him,  "  We  fought,  but  there 
is  no  hatred  in  our  hearts.  We  cannot  hate — our 
brothers "  '  " 

That  was  the  end. 

"  It  is  a  great  book,"  Anne  told  him  solemnly.  "  It 
will  be  a  great  success." 

He  seemed  to  shrink  and  grow  small  in  his  chair. 
"  It  will  come — too  late." 

She  looked  up  and  saw  the  mood  that  was  upon 
145 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

him.     "  Oh,  you  must  not — not  that,"  she  said,  hur- 
riedly ;  "  if  you  give  up  now  it  will  be  a  losing  fight." 

"  Don't  you  suppose  that  I  would  fight  if  I  felt 
that  I  could  win  ?  But  what  can  a  man  do  with  a 
thing  like  this  that  is  dragging  him  down  to  dark- 
ness ?  " 

"  You  mustn't  be  discouraged.  Dr.  Brooks  says 
that  it  isn't — inevitable.  You  know  that  he  said 
that,  and  that  the  specialist  said  it." 

"  I  know.  But  something  tells  me  that  I  am  fac- 
ing— darkness."  He  threw  up  his  head.  "  Why 
should  we  talk  of  it  ?  Let  me  tell  you  rather  how 
much  you  have  helped  me  with  my  book.  If  it  had 
not  been  for  you  I  could  not  have  written  it." 

"  I  am  glad  if  I  have  been  of  service."  Her  words 
sounded  formal  after  the  warmth  of  his  own. 

He  laughed,  with  a  touch  of  bitterness.  "  The 
Princess  serves,"  he  said,  "  always  and  always 
serves.  She  never  grabs,  as  the  rest  of  us  do,  at 
happiness." 

"  I  shall  grab  when  it  comes,"  she  said,  smiling  a 
little,  "  and  I  am  happy  now,  because  I  am  going  to 
wear  my  pretty  gown." 

"  Which  reminds  me,"  he  said,  quickly,  and 
brought  from  his  pocket  a  little  box.  "  Your  cos- 
tume won't  be  complete  without  these.  I  bought 
them  for  you  with  the  advance  check  which  my 
publishers  sent  after  they  had  read  the  first  chapters 
of  my  book." 

146 


PASSING  A  SHOP 

She  opened  the  box.  Within  lay  a  little  string  of 
pearls.  Not  such  pearls  as  Nancy  had  shown  her, 
but  milk-white  none  the  less,  with  shining  lovely 
lights. 

"  Oh,"  she  gave  a  distressed  cry,  "  you  shouldn't 
have  done  it." 

"Why  not?" 

"  I  can't  accept  them.     Indeed  I  can't." 

"  I  shall  feel  as  if  you  had  flung  them  in  my  face 
if  you  give  them  back  to  me,"  heatedly. 

"  You  shouldn't  take  it  that  way.  It  isn't  fair  to 
take  it  that  way." 

"  It  isn't  a  question  of  fairness.  It  is  a  question  of 
kindness  on  your  part." 

"  I  want  to  be  kind." 

"  Then  take  them." 

She  thought  for  a  moment  with  her  eyes  on  the 
fire.  When  she  raised  them  it  was  to  say,  "  Would 
you — want  your  little  sister,  Mimi,  to  take  jewels 
from  any  man  ?  " 

"  Yes.     If  he  loved  her  as  I  love  you." 

It  was  out,  and  they  stood  aghast.  Then  Geoffrey 
stammered,  "  Can't  you  see  that  my  soul  kneels  at 
your  feet  ?  That  to  me  these  pearls  aren't  as  white 
as  your — whiteness  ?" 

The  rosy  silk  had  slipped  to  the  floor.  She  was 
like  a  very  small  goddess  in  a  morning  cloud.  "I 
can't  take  them.  Oh,  I  can't." 

He  made  a  quick  gesture.  But  for  her  restrain- 
H7 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

ing  hand  he  would  have  cast  the  pearls  into  the 
flames. 

"  Oh,  don't,"  she  said,  the  little  hand  tense  on  his 
arm.  "  Don't— hurt  me — like  that." 

He  dropped  the  pearls  into  his  pocket.  "  If  you 
won't  wear  them  nobody  shall.  I  suppose  I  seem  to 
you  like  all  sorts  of  a  fool.  I  seem  like  all  sorts  of  a 
fool  to  myself." 

He  turned  and  left  her 

An  hour  later  he  came  back  and  found  her  still 
sewing  on  the  rosy  silk.  Her  eyes  were  red,  as  if 
she  had  wept  a  little. 

"  I  was  a  brute,"  he  said,  repentantly ;  "  forgive 
me  and  smile.  I  am  a  tempestuous  fellow,  and  I 
forgot  myself." 

"  I  was  afraid  we  weren't  ever  going  to  be  friends 
again." 

"  I  shall  always  be  your  friend.  Yet — who  wants 
a  Blind  Beggar  for  a  friend — tell  me  that,  Mistress 
Anne?" 


148 


CHAPTER  X 

In  Which  a  Blind  Beggar  and  a  Butterfly  Go  to  a  Ball. 

In  my  Own  Little  Room. 

UNCLE  ROD,  I  went  to  the  party ! 
I  came  home  an  hour  ago,  and  since  then  I 
have  been  sitting  all  shivery  and  shaky  in  my  pink 
silk.  It  will  be  daylight  in  a  few  minutes,  but  I 
shan't  go  to  bed.  I  couldn't  sleep  if  I  did.  I  feel 
as  if  I  shouldn't  ever  sleep  again. 

Uncle  Rod,  Jimmie  Ford  was  at  the  Crossroads 
ball! 

I  went  early,  because  Mrs.  Nancy  had  asked  me  to 
be  there  to  help  with  her  guests.  Geoffrey  Fox 
went  with  me.  He  was  very  picturesque  in  a 
ragged  jerkin  with  a  black  bandage  over  his  eyes 
and  with  old  Mamie  leading  him  at  the  end  of  a 
cord.  She  enjoyed  it  immensely,  and  they  attracted 
a  lot  of  attention,  as  he  went  tap-tapping  along  with 
his  cane  over  the  polished  floor,  or  whined  for  alms, 
while  she  sat  up  on  her  haunches  with  a  tin  cup  in 
her  mouth. 

Well,  Dr.  Richard  met  us  at  the  door,  looking  the 
young  squire  to  perfection  in  his  grandfather's  old 
dress  coat  of  blue  with  brass  buttons.  The  people 

149 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

from  New  York  hadn't  come,  so  Mrs.  Nancy  put  the 
pearls  in  my  hair,  and  they  made  me  stand  under 
the  portrait  in  the  library,  to  see  if  I  were  really  like 
my  grandmother.  I  can't  believe  that  I  looked  as 
lovely  as  she,  but  they  said  I  did,  and  I  began  to 
feel  as  happy  and  excited  as  Cinderella  at  her  ball. 

Then  the  New  York  crowd  arrived  in  motors,  and 
they  were  all  masked.  I  knew  Eve  Chesley  at 
once  and  Winifred  Ames,  but  it  was  hard  to  be  sure 
of  any  one  else.  Eve  Chesley  was  a  Rose,  with  a 
thousand  fluttering  flounces  of  pink  chiffon.  She 
was  pursued  by  two  men  dressed  as  Butterflies,  slim 
and  shining  in  close  caps  with  great  silken  wings — 
a  Blue  Butterfly  and  a  Brown  one.  I  was  pretty 
sure  that  the  Brown  one  was  Philip  Meade.  It  was 
quite  wonderful  to  watch  them  with  their  wings 
waving.  Eve  carried  a  pocketful  of  rose  petals  and 
threw  them  into  the  air  as  she  went.  I  had  never 
imagined  anything  so  lovely. 

Well,  I  danced  with  Dr.  Richard  and  I  danced 
with  Geoffrey  Fox,  and  I  danced  with  Button  Ames, 
and  with  some  men  that  I  had  never  met  before.  It 
seemed  so  good  to  be  doing  things  like  the  rest. 
Then  all  at  once  I  began  to  feel  that  the  Blue 
Butterfly  was  watching  me.  He  drifted  away  from 
his  pursuit  of  Evelyn  Chesley,  and  whenever  I  raised 
my  eyes,  I  could  see  him  in  corners  staring  at  me. 

It  gave  me  a  queer  feeling.  I  couldn't  be  sure, 
and  yet — there  he  was.  And,  Uncle  Rod,  suddenly 

150 


BEGGAR  AND  BUTTERFLT 

I  knew  him  !  Something  in  the  way  he  carried  him- 
self. You  know  Jimmie's  little  swagger  1 

I  think  I  lost  my  head  after  that.  I  flirted  with 
Dr.  Richard  and  with  Geoffrey  Fox.  I  think  I  even 
flirted  a  little  with  Button  Ames.  I  wanted  them  to 
be  nice  to  me.  I  wanted  Jimmie  to  see  that  what  he 
had  scorned  other  men  could  value,  I  wanted  him 
to  know  that  I  had  forgotten  him.  I  laughed  and 
danced  as  if  my  heart  was  as  light  as  my  heels,  and 
all  the  while  I  was  just  sick  and  faint  with  the 
thought  of  it — "  Jimmie  Ford  is  here,  and  he  hasn't 
said  a  word  to  me.  Jimmie  Ford  is  here — and — he 
hasn't  said  a  word " 

At  last  I  couldn't  stand  it  any  longer,  and  when  I 
was  dancing  with  Geoffrey  Fox  I  said,  "  Do  you 
think  we  could  go  down  to  the  Garden  Room  ?  I 
must  get  away." 

He  didn't  ask  any  question.  And  presently  we 
were  down  there  in  the  quiet,  and  he  had  his  band- 
age off,  and  was  looking  at  me,  anxiously.  "  What 
has  happened,  Mistress  Anne?" 

And  then,  oh,  Uncle  Rod,  I  told  him.  I  don't 
know  how  I  came  to  do  it,  but  it  seemed  to  me  that 
he  would  understand,  and  he  did. 

When  I  had  finished  his  face  was  white  and  set. 
"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  any  man  has  tried  to 
break  your  heart  ?  " 

I  think  I  was  crying  a  little.  "Yes.  But  the 
worst  of  all  is  my — pride." 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

"  My  little  Princess,"  he  said  softly,  "  that  this 
should  have  come — to  you." 

Uncle  Rod,  I  think  that  if  I  had  ever  had  a 
brother,  I  should  have  wanted  him  to  be  like  Geof- 
frey Fox.  All  his  lightness  and  frivolity  seemed  to 
slip  from  him.  "  He  has  thrown  away  what  I  would 
give  my  life  for,"  he  said.  "  Oh,  the  young  fool,  not 
to  know  that  Paradise  was  being  handed  to  him  on 
a  platter." 

I  didn't  tell  him  Jimmie's  name.  That  is  not  to 
be  spoken  to  any  one  but  you.  And  of  course  he 
could  not  know,  though  perhaps  he  guessed  it,  after 
what  happened  later. 

While  we  sat  there,  Dr.  Richard  came  to  hunt  for 
us.  "  Everybody  is  going  in  to  supper,"  he  said. 
He  seemed  surprised  to  find  us  there  together,  and 
there  was  a  sort  of  stiffness  in  his  manner.  "  Mother 
has  been  asking  for  you." 

We  went  at  once  to  the  dining-room.  There 
were  long  tables  set  in  the  old-fashioned  way  for 
everybody.  Mrs.  Nancy  wanted  things  to  be  as 
they  had  been  in  her  own  girlhood.  On  the  table  in 
the  wide  window  were  two  birthday  cakes,  and  at 
that  table  Dr.  Richard  sat  with  his  mother  on  one 
side  of  him,  and  Eve  Chesley  on  the  other.  Eve's 
cake  had  pink  candles  and  his  had  white,  and  there 
were  twenty-five  candles  on  each  cake. 

Geoffrey  Fox  and  I  sat  directly  opposite  ;  Dutton 
Ames  was  on  my  right,  Mrs.  Ames  was  on  Geoffrey's 

152 


BEGGAR  AND  BUTTERFLT 

left,  and  straight  across  the  table,  with  his  mask  off, 
was  Jimmie  Ford,  staring  at  me  with  all  his  eyes! 

For  a  minute  I  didn't  know  what  to  do.  I  just  sat 
and  stared,  and  then  suddenly  I  picked  up  the  glass 
that  stood  by  my  plate,  raised  it  in  salute  and  drank 
smiling.  His  face  cleared,  he  hesitated  just  a  fraction 
of  a  second,  then  his  glass  went  up,  and  he  returned 
my  greeting.  I  wonder  if  he  thought  that  I  would 
cut  him  dead,  Uncle  Rod  ? 

And  don't  worry  about  what  I  drank.  It  was 
white  grape  juice.  Mrs.  Nancy  won't  have  any- 
thing stronger. 

Well,  after  that  I  ate,  and  didn't  know  what  I 
ate,  for  everything  seemed  as  dry  as  dust.  I  know 
my  cheeks  were  red  and  that  my  eyes  shone,  and  I 
smiled  until  my  face  ached.  And  all  the  while  I 
watched  Jimmie  and  Jimmie  watched  me,  and 
pretty  soon,  Uncle  Rod,  I  understood  why  Jimmie 
was  there. 

He  was  making  love  to  Eve  Chesley ! 

Making  love  is  very  different  from  being  in  love, 
isn't  it?  Perhaps  love  is  something  that  Jimmie 
really  doesn't  understand.  But  he  was  using  on 
Eve  all  of  the  charming  tricks  that  he  had  tried 
on  me.  She  is  more  sophisticated,  and  they  mean 
less  to  her  than  to  me,  but  I  could  see  him  bending 
toward  her  in  that  flattering  worshipful  way  of  his 
— and  when  he  took  one  of  her  roses  and  touched 
it  to  his  lips  and  then  to  her  cheek,  everything  was 

153 


dark  for  a  minute.  That  kind  of  kiss  was  the  only 
kind  that  Jimmie  Ford  ever  gave  me,  but  to  me  it 
had  meant  that  he — cared — and  that  I  cared — and 
here  he  was  doing  it  before  the  eyes  of  all  the  world 
— and  for  love  of  another  woman  1 

After  supper  he  came  around  the  table  and  spoke 
to  me.  I  suppose  he  thought  he  had  to.  I  don't 
know  what  he  said  and  I  don't  care.  I  only  know 
that  I  wanted  to  get  away.  I  think  it  was  then  that 
Geoffrey  Fox  guessed.  For  when  Jimmie  had  gone 
he  said,  very  gently,  "  Would  you  like  to  go  home  ? 
You  look  like  your  own  little  ghost,  Mistress  Anne." 

But  I  had  promised  one  more  dance  to  Dr.  Rich- 
ard, and  I  wanted  to  dance  it.  If  you  could  have 
seen  at  the  table  how  he  towered  above  Jimmie 
Ford.  And  when  he  stood  up  to  make  a  little 
speech  in  response  to  a  toast  from  Dutton  Ames, 
his  voice  rang  out  in  such  a — man's  way.  Do  you 
remember  Jimmie  Ford's  falsetto? 

I  had  my  dance  with  him,  and  then  Geoffrey  took 
me  home,  and  all  the  way  I  kept  remembering  the 
things  Dr.  Richard  had  said  to  me,  such  pleasant 
friendly  things,  and  when  his  mother  told  me  "  good- 
night" she  took  my  face  between  her  hands  and 
kissed  me.  "  You  must  come  often,  little  Cynthia 
Warfield,"  she  said.  "  Richard  and  I  both  want 
you." 

But  now  that  I  am  at  home  again,  I  can't  think 
of  anything  but  how  Jimmie  Ford  has  spoiled  it  all. 

154 


BEGGAR  AND  BUTTERFLT 

When  you  have  given  something,  you  can't  ever 
really  take  it  back,  can  you  ?  When  you've  given 
faith  and  constancy  to  one  man,  what  have  you  left 
to  give  another  ? 

The  river  is  beginning  to  show  like  a  silver 
streak,  and  a  rooster  is  crowing.  Oh,  Uncle  Rod, 
if  you  were  only  here.  Write  and  tell  me  that  you 
love  me/ 

Your 

LITTLE  GIRL. 

In  the  Telegraph  Tower. 
MY  VERY  DEAR  : 

It  is  after  supper,  and  Beulah  and  I  are  out 
here  with  Eric.  He  likes  to  have  her  come,  and 
I  play  propriety,  for  Mrs.  Bower,  in  common  with 
most  women  of  her  class,  is  very  careful  of  her 
daughter.  I  know  you  don't  like  that  word  "  class," 
but  please  don't  think  I  am  using  it  snobbishly. 
Indeed,  I  think  Beulah  is  much  better  brought  up 
than  the  daughters  of  folk  who  think  themselves 
much  finer,  and  Mrs.  Bower  in  her  simple  way  is 
doing  some  very  effective  chaperoning. 

Eric  is  on  night  duty  in  the  telegraph  tower  this 
week ;  the  other  operator  has  the  day  work.  The 
evenings  are  long,  so  Beulah  brings  her  sewing, 
and  keeps  Eric  company.  They  really  don't  have 
much  to  say  to  each  other,  so  that  I  am  not  inter- 
rupted when  I  write.  They  seem  to  like  to  sit  and 

155 


MISTRESS  4NNE 

look  out  on  the  river  and  the  stars  and  the  moon 
coming  up  behind  the  hills. 

It  is  all  settled  now.  Eric  told  me  yesterday. 
"  I  am  very  happy,"  he  said  ;  "  I  have  been  a  lonely 
man." 

They  are  to  be  married  in  June,  and  the  things 
that  she  is  making  are  to  go  into  the  cedar 
chest  which  her  father  has  given  her.  He  found  it 
one  day  when  he  was  in  Baltimore,  and  when  he 
showed  it  to  her,  he  shone  with  pleasure.  He's 
a  good  old  Peter,  and  he  is  so  glad  that  Beulah 
is  to  marry  Eric.  Eric  will  rent  a  little  house  not 
far  up  the  road.  It  is  a  dear  of  a  cottage,  and  Peggy 
and  I  call  it  the  Playhouse.  We  sit  on  the  porch  when 
we  come  home  from  school,  and  peep  in  at  the  win- 
dows and  plan  what  we  would  put  into  it  if  we  had 
the  furnishing  of  it.  I  should  like  a  house  like  that, 
Uncle  Rod,  for  you  and  me  and  Diogenes.  We'd 
live  happy  ever  after,  wouldn't  we  ?  Some  day  the 
world  is  going  to  build  "  teacherages  "  just  as  it  now 
builds  parsonages,  and  the  little  houses  will  help  to 
dignify  and  uplift  the  profession. 

Your  dear  letter  came  just  in  time,  and  it  was  just 
right.  I  should  have  gone  to  pieces  if  you  had 
pitied  me,  for  I  was  pitying  myself  dreadfully.  But 
when  I  read  "  Little  School-teacher,  what  would  you 
tell  your  scholars?"  I  knew  what  you  wanted  me  to 
answer.  I  carried  your  letter  in  my  pocket  to  school, 
and  when  I  rang  the  bell  I  kept  saying  over  and 

156 


BEGGAR  AND  BUTTERFLT 

over  to  myself,  "  Life  is  what  we  make  it.  Life  is 
what  we  make  it,"  and  all  at  once  the  bells  began 
to  ring  it : 

"  Life  is — what  we — make  it  — 
Life  is — what  we — make  it." 

When  the  children  came  in,  before  we  began  the 
day's  work,  I  talked  to  them.  I  find  it  is  always  up- 
lifting when  we  have  failed  in  anything  to  try  to  tell 
others  how  not  to  fail !  Perhaps  it  isn't  preaching 
what  we  practice,  but  at  least  it  supplies  a  working 
theory. 

I  made  up  a  fairy-story  for  them,  too,  about  a 
Princess  who  was  so  ill  and  unhappy  that  all  the 
kingdom  was  searched  far  and  wide  for  some  one  to 
cure  her.  And  at  last  an  old  crone  was  found  who 
swore  that  she  had  the  right  remedy.  "What  is 
it?"  all  the  wise  men  asked;  but  the  old  woman 
said,  "  It  is  written  in  this  scroll.  To-morrow  the 
Princess  must  start  out  alone  upon  a  journey.  What- 
ever difficulty  she  encounters  she  must  open  this 
scroll  and  read,  and  the  scroll  will  tell  her  what  to 
do." 

Well,  the  Princess  started  out,  and  when  she  had 
traveled  a  little  way  she  found  that  she  was  hungry 
and  tired,  and  she  cried :  "  Oh,  I  haven't  anything 
to  eat."  Then  the  scroll  said,  "  Read  me,"  and  she 
opened  the  scroll  and  read :  "  There  is  corn  in  the 
fields.  You  must  shell  it  and  grind  it  on  a  stone 

157 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

and  mix  it  with  water,  and  bake  it  into  the  best 
bread  that  you  can."  So  the  Princess  shelled  the 
corn  and  ground  it  and  mixed  it  with  water,  and 
baked  it,  and  it  tasted  as  sweet  as  honey  and  as 
crisp  as  apples.  And  the  Princess  ate  with  an  appe- 
tite, and  then  she  lay  down  to  rest.  And  in  the 
night  a  storm  came  up  and  there  was  no  shelter,  and 
the  Princess  cried  out,  "  Oh,  what  shall  I  do  ?  "  and 
the  scroll  said,  "  Read  me."  So  she  opened  the 
scroll  and  read :  "  There  is  wood  on  the  ground. 
You  must  gather  it  and  stack  it  and  build  the  best 
little  house  that  you  can."  So  the  Princess  worked 
all  that  day  and  the  next  and  the  next,  and  when 
the  hut  was  finished  it  was  strong  and  dry  and  no 
storms  could  destroy  it.  So  the  Princess  stayed 
there  in  the  little  hut  that  she  had  made,  and  ate  the 
sweet  loaves  that  she  had  baked,  and  one  day  a 
great  black  bear  came  down  the  road,  and  the  Prin- 
cess cried  out,  "  Oh,  I  have  no  weapon ;  what  shall 
I  do  ? "  And  the  scroll  said,  "  Read  me."  So  she 
opened  the  scroll  and  read,  "Walk  straight  up  to 
the  bear,  and  make  the  best  fight  that  you  can." 
So  the  Princess,  trembling,  walked  straight  up  to 
the  big  black  bear,  and  behold  1  when  he  saw  her 
coming,  he  ran  away  ! 

Now  the  year  was  up,  and  the  king  sent  his  wise 
men  to  bring  the  Princess  home,  and  one  day  they 
came  to  her  little  hut  and  carried  her  back  to  the 
palace,  and  she  was  so  rosy  and  well  that  everybody 

158 


BEGGAR  AND  BUTTERFLT 

wondered.  Then  the  king  called  the  people  to- 
gether, and  said,  "  Oh,  Princess,  speak  to  us,  and 
let  us  know  how  you  were  cured."  So  the  Princess 
told  them  of  how  she  had  baked  the  bread,  and  built 
the  hut,  and  conquered  the  bear  ;  and  of  how  she  had 
found  health  and  happiness.  For  the  bread  that  you 
make  with  your  own  hands  is  the  sweetest,  and  the 
shelter  that  you  build  for  yourself  is  the  snuggest, 
and  the  fear  that  you  face  is  no  fear  at  all. 

The  children  liked  my  story,  and  I  felt  very  brave 
when  I  had  finished  it.  You  see,  I  have  been  for- 
getting our  sunsets,  and  I  have  been  shivery  and 
shaky  when  I  should  have  faced  my  Big  Black 
Bear! 

Beulah  is  ready  to  go — and  so — good-night.  The 
moon  is  high  up  and  round,  and  as  pure  gold  as 
your  own  loving  heart. 

Ever  your  own 

ANNE. 


159 


CHAPTER  XI 

In    Which  Brinsley  Speaks  of  the   Way  to   Win  a 
Woman. 

AND  now  spring  was  coming  to  the  countryside. 
The  snow  melted,  and  the  soft  rains  fell,  and 
on  sunny  days  Diogenes,  splashing  in  the  little 
puddles,  picked  and  pulled  at  his  feathers  as  he 
preened  himself  in  the  shelter  of  the  south  bank 
which  overlooked  the  river. 

Some  of  the  feathers  were  tipped  with  shining 
green  and  some  with  brown.  Some  of  them  fell  by 
the  way,  some  floated  out  on  blue  tides,  and  one  of 
them  was  wafted  by  the  wind  to  the  feet  of  Geoffrey 
Fox,  as,  on  a  certain  morning,  he,  too,  stood  on  the 
south  bank. 

He  picked  it  up  and  stuck  it  in  his  hat.  "  I'll 
wear  it  for  my  lady,"  he  said  to  the  old  drake,  "  and 
much  good  may  it  do  me  !  " 

The  old  drake  lifted  his  head  toward  the  sky,  and 
gave  a  long  cry.  But  it  was  not  for  Anne  that  he 
called.  She  still  gave  him  food  and  drink.  He  still 
met  her  at  the  gate.  If  her  mind  was  less  upon  him 
than  in  the  past,  it  mattered  little.  The  things  that 
held  meaning  for  him  this  morning  were  the  glory 
of  the  sunshine,  and  the  softness  of  the  breeze 

1 60 


TO  WIN  A  WOMAN 

Stirring  within  him  was  a  need  above  and  beyond 
anything  that  Geoffrey  could  give,  or  Anne.  He 
listened  not  for  the  step  of  the  little  school-teacher, 
but  for  the  whirring  wings  of  some  comrade  of  his 
own  kind.  Again  and  again  he  sent  forth  his  cry  to 
the  empty  air. 

Geoffrey's  heart  echoed  the  cry.  His  book  was 
finished,  and  it  was  time  for  him  to  go.  Yet  he  was 
held  by  a  tie  stronger  than  any  which  had  hitherto 
bound  him.  Here  in  the  big  old  house  at  Bower's 
was  the  one  thing  that  his  heart  wanted. 

"  I  could  make  her  happy,"  he  whispered  to  that 
inner  self  which  warned  him.  "  With  her  as  my 
wife  and  with  my  book  a  success,  I  could  defy  fate." 

The  day  was  Saturday,  and  all  the  eager  old 
fishermen  had  arrived  the  night  before.  Brinsley 
Tyson  coming  out  with  his  rod  in  his  hand  and  a 
broad-brimmed  hat  on  his  head  invited  Geoffrey  to 
join  him.  "  I've  a  motor  boat  that  will  take  us  out 
to  the  island  after  we  have  done  a  morning's  fishing, 
and  Mrs.  Bower  has  put  up  a  lunch." 

"  The  glare  is  bad  for  my  eyes." 

"  Been  working  them  too  hard  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  There's  an  awning  and  smoked  glasses  if  you'll 
wear  them.  And  I  don't  want  to  go  alone.  David 
went  back  on  me ;  he's  got  a  new  book.  It's  a 
puzzle  to  me  why  any  man  should  want  to  read 
when  he  can  have  a  day's  fishing." 

161 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

"  If  people  didn't  read  what  would  become  of  my 
books?" 

"  Let  'em  read.  But  not  on  days  like  this." 
Brinsley's  fat  face  was  upturned  to  the  sun.  With 
a  vine-wreath  instead  of  his  broad  hat  and  tunic  in 
place  of  his  khaki  he  might  have  posed  for  any  of 
the  plump  old  gods  who  loved  the  good  things  of 
life. 

Geoffrey,  because  he  had  nothing  else  to  do,  went 
with  him.  Anne  was  invisible.  On  Saturday  morn- 
ings she  did  all  of  the  things  she  had  left  undone 
during  the  week.  She  mended  and  sewed  and 
washed  her  brushes,  and  washed  her  hair,  and  gave 
all  of  her  little  belongings  a  special  rub  and  scrub, 
and  showed  herself  altogether  exquisite  and  house- 
wifely. 

She  saw  Geoffrey  start  out,  and  she  waved  to  him. 
He  waved  back,  his  hand  shading  his  eyes.  When 
he  had  gone,  she  cleaned  all  of  her  toilet  silver,  and 
ran  ribbons  into  nicely  embroidered  nainsook  things, 
and  put  her  pillows  in  the  sun  and  tied  up  her  head 
and  swept  and  dusted,  and  when  she  had  made 
everything  shining,  she  had  a  bit  of  lunch  on  a  tray, 
and  then  she  washed  her  hair. 

Geoffrey  ate  lunch  on  the  island  with  Brinsley 
Tyson.  He  liked  the  old  man  immensely.  There 
was  a  flavor  about  his  worldliness  which  had  nothing 
to  do  with  stale  frivolities  ;  it  was  rather  a  thing  of 
fastidious  taste  and  of  tempered  wit.  He  was  keen 

162 


TO  WIN  A  WOMAN 

in  his  judgments  of  men,  and  charitable  in  his  esti- 
mates of  women. 

Brinsley  Tyson  had  known  Baltimore  before  the 
days  of  modern  cities.  He  had  known  it  before  it 
had  cut  its  hotels  after  the  palace  pattern,  and  when 
Rennert's  in  more  primitive  quarters  had  been  the 
Mecca  for  epicureans.  He  had  known  its  theaters 
when  the  footlight  favorites  were  Lotta  and  Jo 
Emmet,  and  when  the  incomparable  Booth  and 
Jefferson  had  held  audiences  spellbound  at  Ford's 
and  at  Albaugh's.  He  had  known  Charles  Street 
before  it  was  extended,  and  he  had  known  its  Sun- 
day parade.  He  had  known  the  Bay  Line  Boats, 
the  harbor  and  the  noisy  streets  that  led  to  the 
wharves.  He  had  known  Lexington  Market  on 
Saturday  afternoons ;  the  Baltimore  and  Ohio  Rail- 
road in  the  heyday  of  its  importance,  and  more  than 
all  he  had  known  the  beauties  and  belles  of  old 
Baltimore,  and  it  added  piquancy  to  many  of  his 
anecdotes  when  he  spoke  of  his  single  estate  as  a 
tragedy  resulting  from  his  devotion  to  too  many 
charmers,  with  no  possibility  of  making  a  choice. 

It  was  of  these  things  that  he  spoke  while  Geoffrey, 
lying  in  the  grass  with  his  arm  across  his  eyes, 
listened  and  enjoyed. 

"  And  you  never  married,  sir?" 

"  I've  told  you  there  were  too  many  of  them.  If  I 
could  have  had  any  one  of  those  girls  on  this  island 
with  'tother  dear  charmers  away,  there  wouldn't 

163 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

have  been  any  trouble.  But  a  choice  with  them  all 
about  me  was — impossible."  His  old  eyes  twinkled. 

"  Suppose  you  had  made  a  choice,  and  she  hadn't 
cared  for  you  ? "  said  the  voice  of  the  man  on  the 
grass. 

"  Any  woman  will  care  if  you  go  at  it  the  right 
way." 

"  What  is  the  right  way  ?  " 

"  There's  only  one  way  to  win  a  woman.  If  she 
says  she  won't  marry  you,  carry  her  off  by  force  to  a 
clergyman,  and  when  you  get  her  there  make  her 
say  '  Yes.'  " 

Geoffrey  sat  up.    "  You  don't  mean  that  literally  ?  " 

Brinsley  nodded.  "Indeed  I  do.  Take  the  atti- 
tude with  them  of  Man  the  Conqueror.  They  all 
like  it.  Man  the  Suppliant  never  gets  what  he 
wants." 

"  But  in  these  days  primitive  methods  aren't 
possible." 

Brinsley  skipped  a  chicken  bone  expertly  across 
the  surface  of  the  water.  "  Primitive  methods  are 
always  possible.  The  trouble  is  that  man  has  lost 
his  nerve.  The  cult  of  chivalry  has  spoiled  him. 
It  has  taught  him  to  kneel  at  his  lady's  feet,  where 
pre-historically  he  kept  his  foot  on  her  neck  1 " 

Geoffrey  laughed.  "  You'd  be  mobbed  in  a  suf- 
frage meeting." 

"Suffrage,  my  dear  fellow,  is  the  green  carnation 
in  the  garden  of  femininity.  Every  woman  blooms 

164 


TO  WIN  A  WOMAN 

for  her  lover.  It  is  the  lack  of  lovers  that  produces 
the  artificial — hence  votes  for  women.  What  does 
the  woman  being  carried  off  under  the  arm  of  con- 
quering man  care  for  yellow  banners  or  speeches 
from  the  tops  of  busses  ?  She  is  too  busy  trying  to 
please  him." 

"  It  would  be  a  great  experiment.  I'd  like  to  try 
it." 

Brinsley,  uncorking  a  hot  and  cold  bottle,  boldly 
surmised,  "  It  is  the  little  school-teacher  ?  " 

Geoffrey,  again  flat  on  the  grass,  murmured, 
"Yes." 

"  And  it  is  neck  and  neck  between  you  and  that 
young  cousin  of  mine?" 

"  I  am  afraid  he  is  a  neck  ahead." 

"  It  all  depends  upon  which  runs  away  with  her 
first." 

Again  Geoffrey  murmured,  "  I'd  like  to  try  it." 

"  Why  not?"  said  Brinsley  and  beamed  over  his 
coffee  cup  like  a  benevolent  spider  at  an  unsuspecting 
fly.  He  had  no  idea  that  his  fooling  might  be  taken 
seriously.  It  was  not  given  to  his  cynicism  to  com- 
prehend the  mood  of  the  seemingly  composed  young 
person  who  lay  on  the  grass  with  his  hat  over  his 
eyes — torn  by  contending  emotions,  maddened  by 
despair  and  the  dread  of  darkness,  awakened  to  new 
impulses  in  which  youth  and  hot  blood  fought 
against  an  almost  reverent  tenderness  for  the  object 
of  his  adoration.  Since  the  night  of  the  Crossroads 

165 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

ball  Geoffrey  had  permitted  himself  to  hope.  She 
had  turned  to  him  then.  For  the  first  time  he  had 
felt  that  the  barriers  were  down  between  them. 

"  Now  Richard,"  Brinsley  was  saying,  as  he 
smoked  luxuriously  after  the  feast,  "  ought  to  marry 
Eve.  She'll  get  her  Aunt  Maude's  money,  and  be 
the  making  of  him." 

Richard,  who  at  that  very  moment  was  riding 
through  the  country  on  his  old  white  horse,  had  no 
thought  of  Eve. 

The  rhythm  of  old  Ben's  even  trot  formed  an 
accompaniment  to  the  song  that  his  heart  was 
singing— 

"  I  think  she  was  the  most  beautiful  lady, 
That  ever  was  in  the  West  Country  — 


As  he  passed  along  the  road,  he  was  aware  of  the 
world's  awakening.  His  ears  caught  the  faint  flat 
bleating  of  lambs,  the  call  of  the  cocks,  the  high 
note  of  the  hens,  the  squeal  of  little  pigs,  and  above 
all,  the  clamor  of  blackbirds  and  of  marauding  crows. 

The  trees,  too,  were  beginning  to  show  the  pale 
tints  of  spring,  and  an  amethyst  haze  enveloped  the 
hills.  The  river  was  silver  in  the  shadow  and  gold 
in  the  sun ;  the  little  streams  that  ran  down  to  it 
seemed  to  sing  as  they  went. 

Coming  at  last  to  an  old  white  farmhouse,  Richard 
dismounted  and  went  in.  The  old  man  bent  with 
rheumatism  welcomed  him,  and  the  old  wife  said, 

166 


TO  WIN  A  WOMAN 

"  He  is  always  better  when  he  knows  that  you  are 
coming,  doctor." 

The  old  man  nodded.  "  Your  gran'dad  used  to 
come.  I  was  a  little  boy  an'  croupy,  and  he  seemed 
big  as  a  house  when  he  came  in  at  the  door.  He 
was  taller  than  you,  and  thin." 

"  Now,  father,"  the  old  woman  protested,  "  the 
young  doctor  ain't  fat." 

"  He's  fatter'n  his  gran'dad.  But  I  ain't  saying 
that  I  don't  like  it.  I  like  meat  on  a  man's  bones." 

Richard  laughed.  "  Just  so  that  I  don't  go  the  way 
of  Cousin  Brin.  You  know  Brinsley  Tyson,  don't 
you?" 

"  He's  the  fat  twin.  Yes,  I  know  him  and  David. 
David  comes  and  reads  to  me,  but  Brinsley  went  to 
Baltimore,  and  now  he  don't  seem  to  remember  that 
we  were  boys  together,  and  went  to  the  Crossroads 
school." 

After  that  they  spoke  of  the  little  new  teacher,  and 
Richard  revelled  in  the  praise  they  gave  her.  She 
was  worshipped,  they  said,  by  the  people  round- 
about. There  had  never  been  another  like  her. 

"  I  think  she  was  the  most  beautiful  lady, 
That  ever  was  in  the  West  Country " 


was  Richard's  enlargement  of  their  theme.  In  the 
weeks  just  past  he  had  seen  much  of  her,  and  it  had 
seemed  to  him  that  life  began  and  ended  with  his 
thought  of  her. 

167 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

When  he  rose  to  go  the  old  woman  went  to  the 
door  with  him.  "  I  guess  we  owe  you  a  lot  by  this 
time,"  she  remarked  ;  "  you've  made  so  many  calls. 
It  cheers  him  up  to  have  you,  but  you'd  better  stop 
now  that  he  don't  need  you.  It's  so  far,  and  we 
ain't  good  pay  like  some  of  them." 

Richard  squared  his  shoulders — a  characteristic 
gesture.  "  Don't  bother  about  the  bill.  I  have  a  sort 
of  sentiment  about  my  grandfather's  old  patients. 
It  is  a  pleasure  to  know  them  and  serve  them." 

"  If  you  didn't  mind  taking  your  pay  in  chickens," 
she  stated  as  he  mounted  his  horse,  "  we  could  let 
you  have  some  broilers." 

"  You  will  need  all  you  can  raise."  Then  as  his 
eyes  swept  the  green  hill  which  sloped  down  to  the 
river,  he  perceived  an  orderly  line  of  waddling  fowls 
making  their  way  toward  the  house. 

"  I'd  like  a  white  duck,"  he  said,  "  if  you  could  let 
me  take  her  now." 

He  chose  a  meek  and  gentle  creature  who  sub- 
mitted to  the  separation  from  the  rest  of  her  kind 
without  rebellion.  Tucked  under  Richard's  arm, 
she  surveyed  the  world  with  some  alarm,  but  pres- 
ently, as  he  rode  on  with  her,  she  seemed  to  acqui- 
esce in  her  abduction  and  faced  the  adventure  with 
serene  eyes,  murmuring  now  and  then  some  note  of 
demure  interrogation  as  she  nestled  quite  confidently 
against  the  big  man  who  rode  so  easily  his  great 
white  horse. 

168 


TO  WIN  A  WOMAN 

And  thus  they  came  to  Bower's,  to  find  Anne  on 
the  south  bank,  like  a  very  modern  siren,  drying  her 
hair,  with  Diogenes  nipping  the  new  young  grass 
near  her. 

She  saw  them  coming.  Richard  wore  a  short 
rough  coat  and  an  old  alpine  hat  of  green.  His 
leggings  were  splashed  with  mud,  and  the  white  horse 
was  splashed,  but  there  was  about  the  pair  of  them 
an  air  of  gallant  achievement. 

She  rose  to  greet  them.  She  was  blushing  a  little 
and  with  her  dark  hair  blowing  she  was  "  the  most 
beautiful,"  like  the  lady  in  the  song. 

"  I  thought  no  one  would  be  coming,"  was  her 
apology,  "  and  out  here  I  get  the  wind  and  sun." 

"  All  the  old  fishermen  will  be  wrecked  on  the 
rocks  if  they  get  a  glimpse  of  you,"  he  told  her 
gravely ;  "  you  mustn't  turn  their  poor  old  heads." 

And  now  the  white  duck  murmured. 

"  The  lovely  dear,  where  did  you  get  her  ?  "  Anne 
asked. 

"  In  the  hills,  to  cheer  up  Diogenes." 

He  set  the  white  duck  down.  She  shook  her 
feathers  and  again  spoke  interrogatively.  And  now 
Diogenes  lifted  his  head  and  answered.  For  a  few 
moments  he  rent  the  air  with  his  song  of  triumph. 
Then  he  turned  and  led  the  way  to  the  river.  There 
was  a  quiet  pool  in  the  bend  of  the  bank.  The  old 
drake  breasted  its  shining  waters,  and  presently  the 
white  duck  followed.  With  a  sort  of  restrained 

169 


MISTRESS 

coquetry  she  turned  her  head  from  side  to  side.  All 
her  questions  were  answered,  all  her  murmurs 
stilled. 

Richard  and  Anne  smiled  at  each  other.  "  What 
made  you  think  of  it  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  thought  you'd  like  it." 

"  I  do."     She  began  to  twist  up  her  hair. 

"  Please  don't.     I  like  to  see  it  down." 

"  But  people  will  be  coming  in." 

11  Why  should  we  be  here  when  they  come  ? 
put  Ben  in  the  stable — and  we'll  go  for  a  walk, 
you  know  there  are  violets  in  the  wood?" 

From  under  the  red-striped  awning  of  Brinsley's 
boat  Geoffrey  Fox  saw  Anne's  hair  blowing  like  a 
sable  banner  in  the  breeze.  He  saw  Richard's 
square  figure  peaked  up  to  the  alpine  hat.  He  saw 
them  enter  the  wood. 

He  shut  his  eyes  from  the  glare  of  the  sun  and 
lay  quietly  on  the  cushions  of  the  little  launch.  But 
though  his  eyes  were  shut,  he  could  still  see  those 
two  figures  walking  together  in  the  dreamy  dimness 
of  the  spring  forest. 

"  What  were  the  ethics  of  the  primitive  man  ? " 
he  asked  Brinsley  suddenly.  "  Did  he  run  away 
with  a  woman  who  belonged  to  somebody  else  ?  " 

"Why  not?"  Brinsley's  reel  was  whirring.  "And 
now  if  you  don't  mind,  Fox,  you  might  be  ready 
with  the  net.  If  this  fish  is  as  big  as  he  pulls,  he 
will  weigh  a  ton." 

170 


TO  WIN  A  WOMAN 

Geoffrey,  coming  in,  found  Peggy  disconsolate  on 
the  pier. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  can't  find  Anne.  She  said  that  after  her  hair 
dried  she'd  go  for  a  walk  to  Beulah's  playhouse,  and 
\ve  were  to  have  tea.  Beulah  was  to  bring  it." 

"  She  has  gone  for  a  walk  with  some  one  else." 

"Who?" 

"  Dr.  Brooks.  Let's  go  and  look  for  her,  Peggy, 
and  when  we  find  her  we  will  tell  her  what  we  think 
of  her  for  running  away." 

The  green  stillness  of  the  grove  was  very  grateful 
after  the  glare  of  the  river.  Geoffrey  walked  quickly, 
with  the  child's  hand  in  his.  He  had  a  feeling  that 
if  he  did  not  walk  quickly  he  would  be  too  late. 

He  was  not  too  late ;  he  saw  that  at  a  glance. 
Richard  had  dallied  in  his  wooing.  It  had  been  so 
wonderful  to  be  with  her.  Once  when  he  had  knelt 
beside  her  to  pick  violets,  the  wind  had  blown  across 
his  face  a  soft  sweet  strand  of  her  hair.  It  was  then 
that  she  had  braided  it,  sitting  on  a  fallen  log  under 
a  blossoming-  dogwood. 

"  It  is  so  long,"  she  had  said  with  a  touch  of 
pride,  "  that  it  is  a  great  trouble  to  care  for  it. 
Cynthia  Warfield  had  hair  like  mine." 

"  I  don't  believe  that  any  one  ever  had  hair  like 
yours.  It  seems  to  me  as  if  every  strand  must  have 
been  made  specially  in  some  celestial  shop,  and  then 
the  pattern  destroyed." 

171 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

How  lovely  she  was  when  she  blushed  like  that  i 
How  little  and  lovely  and  wise  and  good.  He  liked 
little  women.  His  mother  was  small,  and  he  was 
glad  that  both  she  and  Anne  had  delicate  hands  and 
feet.  He  was  aware  that  this  preference  was  old- 
fashioned,  but  it  was,  none  the  less,  the  way  he  felt 
about  it. 

And  now  there  broke  upon  the  silence  of  the 
wood  the  sound  of  murmuring  voices.  Peggy  and 
Geoffrey  Fox  had  invaded  their  Paradise  ! 

"  We  thought,"  Peggy  complained,  "  that  we  had 
lost  you.  Anne,  you  promised  about  the  tea." 

"  Oh,  Peggy,  I  forgot." 

"  Beulah's  gone  with  the  basket  and  Eric,  and  we 
can't  be  late  because  there  are  hot  biscuits." 

Hurrying  toward  the  biscuits  and  their  hotness, 
Anne  ran  ahead  with  Peggy. 

"  How  about  the  eyes  ?  "  Richard  asked  as  he  and 
Geoffrey  followed. 

"  I've  been  on  the  water,  and  it  is  bad  for  them. 
But  I'm  not  going  to  worry.  I  am  getting  out  of 
life  more  than  I  hoped — more  than  I  dared  hope." 

His  voice  had  a  high  note  of  excitement.  Richard 
glanced  at  him.  For  a  moment  he  wondered  if  Fox 
had  been  drinking. 

But  Geoffrey  was  intoxicated  with  the  wine  of  his 
dreams.  With  a  quick  gesture  in  which  he  seemed 
to  throw  from  him  all  the  fears  which  had  oppressed 
him,  he  told  his  triumphant  lie. 

172 


TO  WIN  A  WOMAN 

"  I  am  going  to  marry  Anne  Warfield ;  she  has 
promised  to  be  eyes  for  me,  and  light — the  sun  and 
the  moon." 

Richard's  face  grew  gray.  He  spoke  with  diffi- 
culty. "  She  has  promised?  " 

Then  again  Geoffrey  lied,  meaning  indeed  before 
the  night  had  passed  to  make  his  words  come  true. 
"  She  is  going  to  marry  me — and  I  am  the  happiest 
man  alive ! " 

The  light  went  out  of  Richard's  world.  How 
blind  he  had  been.  He  had  taken  her  smiles  and 
blushes  to  himself  when  she  had  glowed  with  a 
happiness  which  had  nothing  to  do  with  him. 

He  steadied  himself  to  speak.  "  You  are  a  lucky 
fellow,  Fox ;  you  must  let  me  congratulate  you." 

"  The  world  doesn't  know,"  Geoffrey  said,  "  not 
yet.  But  I  had  to  tell  it  to  some  one,  and  a  doctor 
is  a  sort  of  secular  father  confessor." 

Richard's  laugh  was  without  mirth.  "  If  you 
mean  that  it's  not  to  be  told,  you  may  rely  on  my 
discretion." 

"  Of  course.  I  told  you  she  was  to  play  Beatrice 
to  my  Dante,  but  she  shall  be  more  than  that." 

It  was  a  rather  silent  party  which  had  tea  on  the 
porch  of  the  Playhouse.  But  Beulah  and  Eric  were 
not  aware  of  any  lack  in  their  guests.  Eric  had 
been  to  Baltimore  the  day  before,  and  Beulah  wore 
her  new  ring.  She  accepted  Richard's  congratula- 
tions shyly. 

173 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

11 1  like  my  little  new  house,"  she  said  ;  "  have 
you  been  over  it  ?  " 

He  said  that  he  had  not,  and  she  took  him.  Eric 
went  with  them,  and  as  they  stood  in  the  door  of  an 
upper  room,  he  put  his  arm  quite  frankly  about 
Beulah's  shoulders  as  she  explained  their  plans  to 
Richard.  "  This  is  to  be  in  pink  and  the  other  one 
in  white,  and  all  the  furniture  is  to  be  pink  and 
white." 

She  was  as  pink  and  white  and  pretty  as  the 
rooms  she  was  planning,  and  to  see  her  standing 
there  within  the  circle  of  her  lover's  arm  was  heart- 
warming. 

"You  must  get  some  roses  from  my  mother, 
Beulah,  for  your  little  garden,"  the  young  doctor 
told  her  ;  "  all  pink  and  white  like  the  rest  of  it" 

He  let  them  go  down  ahead  of  him,  and  so  it 
happened  that  he  stood  for  a  moment  alone  in  a 
little  upper  porch  at  the  back  of  the  house  which 
overlooked  the  wood.  The  shadows  were  gathering 
in  its  dim  aisles,  shutting  out  the  daylight,  shutting 
out  the  dreams  which  he  had  lost  that  day  in  the 
fragrant  depths. 

When  later  he  came  with  the  rest  of  them  to 
Bower's,  the  river  was  stained  with  the  sunset. 
Diogenes  and  the  white  duck  breasted  serenely  the 
crimson  surface.  Certain  old  fishermen  trailed  be- 
latedly up  the  bank.  Others  sat  spick  and  span 
and  ready  for  supper  on  the  porch. 

174 


TO  WIN  A  WOMAN 

Brinsley  Tyson  over  the  top  of  his  newspaper 
hailed  Richard. 

"  There's  a  telephone  call  for  you.  They've  been 
trying  to  get  you  for  an  hour." 

He  went  in  at  once,  and  coming  out  told  Anne 
good-night.  "  Thank  you  for  a  happy  afternoon," 
he  said. 

But  she  missed  something  in  his  voice,  something 
that  had  been  there  when  they  had  walked  in  the 
wood. 

She  watched  him  as  he  went  away,  square-shoul- 
dered and  strong  on  his  big  white  horse.  She  had 
a  troubled  sense  that  things  had  in  some  fateful  and 
tragic  way  gone  wrong  with  her  afternoon,  but  it 
was  not  yet  given  to  her  to  know  that  young  Rich- 
ard on  his  big  white  horse  was  riding  out  of  her  life. 

It  was  after  supper  that  Geoffrey  asked  her  to  go 
out  on  the  river  with  him. 

"  Not  to-night.     I'm  tired." 

"  Just  a  little  minute,  Mistress  Anne.  To  see  the 
moon  come  up  over  the  island.  Please."  So  she 
consented. 

Helping  her  into  the  boat,  Geoffrey's  hands  were 
shaking.  The  boat  swept  out  from  the  pier  in  a 
wide  curve,  and  he  drew  a  long  breath.  He  had  her 
now — it  would  be  a  great  adventure — like  a  book — 
better  than  any  book. 

Primitive  man  in  prehistoric  days  carried  his 
woman  off  captive  under  his  arm.  GeoffreyP  pursu- 

175 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

ing  modern  methods,  had  borrowed  Brinsley's  boat. 
A  rug  was  folded  innocently  on  the  cushions;  in  a 
snug  little  cupboard  under  the  stern  seat  were  certain 
supplies — a  great  adventure,  surely ! 

And  now  the  boat  was  under  the  bridge  ;  the  signal 
lights  showed  red  and  green.  Then  as  they  slipped 
around  the  first  island  there  was  only  the  silver  of 
the  moonshine  spread  out  over  the  waters. 

Geoffrey  stopped  the  motor.  "  We'll  drift  and 
talk." 

"  You  talk,"  she  told  'him,  "  and  I'll  listen,  and  we 
mustn't  be  too  late." 

"  What  is  too  late  ?  " 

"  I  told  you  I  would  stay  just  a  little  minute." 

"There  is  no  real  reason  why  we  shouldn't  stay  as 
long  as  we  wish.  You  are  surely  not  so  prim  that 
you  are  doing  it  for  propriety." 

"  You  know  I  am  not  prim." 

"Yes  you  are.  You  are  prim  and  Puritan  and 
sometimes  you  are  a  prig.  But  I  like  you  that  way, 
Mistress  Anne.  Only  to-night  I  shall  do  as  I  please." 

"  Don't  be  silly." 

"  Is  it  silly  to  love  you — why  ?" 

He  argued  it  with  her  brilliantly — so  that  it  was 
only  when  the  red  and  green  lights  of  a  second  bridge 
showed  ahead  of  them  that  she  said,  sharply,  "We 
are  miles  away  from  Bower's  ;  we  must  go  back." 

"  It  won't  take  us  long,"  he  said,  easily,  and  pres- 
ently they  were  purring  up-stream. 

176 


TO  WIN  A  WOMAN 

Then  all  at  once  the  motor  stopped.  Geoffrey, 
inspecting  it  with  a  flashlight,  said,  succinctly, 
"  Engine's  on  the  blink." 

"  You  mean  that  we  can't  go  on  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I'll  tinker  it  up.  Only  you'll  have  to  let  me 
get  into  that  box  under  the  stern  seat  for  the  tools. 
You  can  hold  the  light  while  I  work." 

As  he  worked  they  drifted.  They  passed  the 
second  bridge.  Anne,  steering,  grew  cold  and 
shivered.  But  she  did  not  complain.  She  was 
glad,  however,  when  Geoffrey  said,  "  You'd  better 
curl  down  among  the  cushions,  and  let  me  wrap  you 
in  this  rug." 

"  Can  you  manage  without  me?" 

"  Yes.  I've  patched  it  up  partially.  And  you'll 
freeze  in  this  bitter  air." 

The  wind  had  changed  and  there  was  now  no 
moon.  She  was  glad  of  the  warmth  of  the  rug  and 
the  comfort  of  the  cushioned  space.  She  shut  her 
eyes,  after  a  time,  and,  worn  out  by  the  emotions  of 
the  day,  she  dropped  into  fitful  slumber. 

Then  Geoffrey,  his  hair  blown  back  by  the  wind, 
stood  at  the  wheel  and  steered  his  boat  not  up-stream 
toward  the  bridge  at  Bower's,  but  straight  down 
toward  the  wider  waters,  where  the  river  stretches 
out  into  the  Bay. 


177 


CHAPTER  XII 

In   Which  Eve  Usurps  an  Ancient  Masculine  Priv- 
ilege. 

AUNT  MAUDE  CHESLEY  belonged  to  the 
various  patriotic  societies  which  are  dependent 
on  Revolutionary  fighting  blood,  on  Dutch  forbears, 
or  on  the  ancestral  holding  of  Colonial  office.  The 
last  stood  highest  in  her  esteem.  It  was  the  hardest 
to  get  into,  hence  there  was  about  it  the  sanctity  of 
exclusiveness.  Any  man  might  spill  his  blood  for 
his  country,  and  among  those  early  Hollanders  were 
many  whose  blood  was  red  instead  of  blue,  but  it 
was  only  a  choice  few  who  in  the  early  days  of  the 
country's  history  had  been  appointed  by  the  Crown 
or  elected  by  the  people  to  positions  of  influence  and 
of  authority. 

When  Aunt  Maude  went  to  the  meeting  of  her 
favorite  organization,  she  wore  always  black  velvet 
which  showed  the  rounds  of  her  shoulders,  point  lace 
in  a  deep  bertha,  the  family  diamonds,  and  all  of  her 
badges.  The  badges  had  bars  and  jewels,  and  the 
effect  was  imposing. 

Evelyn  laughed  at  her.  "  Nobody  cares  for  an- 
cestors any  more.  Not  since  people  began  to  hunt 

178 


A  MASCULINE  PRIVILEGE 

them  up.  You  can  find  anything  if  you  look  for  it, 
Aunt  Maude.  And  most  of  the  crests  are  bought  or 
borrowed  so  that  if  one  really  belongs  to  you,  you 
don't  like  to  speak  of  it,  any  more  than  to  tell  that 
you  are  a  lady  or  take  a  daily  bath." 

"  Our  ancestors,"  said  Aunt  Maude  solemnly,  "are 
our  heritage  from  the  past — but  you  have  reverence 
for  nothing." 

"  They  were  a  jolly  old  lot,"  Eve  agreed,  "  and  I 
am  proud  of  them.  But  some  of  their  descendants 
are  a  scream.  If  men  had  their  minds  on  being  an- 
cestors instead  of  bragging  of  them  there'd  be  some 
hope  for  the  future  of  old  families." 

Aunt  Maude,  having  been  swathed  by  her  maid 
in  a  silk  scarf,  so  that  her  head  was  stiff  with  it, 
batted  her  eyes.  "  If  you  would  go  with  me,"  she 
said,  "  and  hear  some  of  the  speeches,  you  might  look 
at  it  differently.  Now  there  was  a  Van  Tromp " 

"  And  in  New  England  there  were  Codcapers,  and 
in  Virginia  there  were  Pantops.  I  take  off  my  hat 
to  them,  but  not  to  their  descendants,  indiscrimi- 
nately." 

And  now  Aunt  Maude,  more  than  ever  mummified 
in  a  gold  and  black  brocade  wrap  trimmed  with 
black  fur,  steered  her  uncertain  way  toward  the 
motor  at  the  door. 

"People  in  my  time "  floated  over  her  shoul- 
der and  then  as  the  door  closed  behind  her,  her  elo- 
quence was  lost. 

179 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

Eve,  alone,  faced  a  radiant  prospect.  Richard 
was  coming.  He  had  telephoned.  She  had  not 
told  Aunt  Maude.  She  wanted  him  to  herself. 

When  at  last  he  arrived  she  positively  crowed 
over  him.  "  Oh,  Dicky,  this  is  darling  of  you." 

A  shadow  fell  across  her  face,  however,  when  he 
told  her  why  he  had  come. 

"  Austin  wanted  me  with  him  in  an  operation. 
He  telegraphed  me  and  I  took  the  first  train.  I 
have  been  here  for  two  days  without  a  minute's 
time  in  which  to  call  you  up." 

"  I  thought  that  perhaps  you  had  come  to  see  me." 

"  Seeing  you  is  a  pleasant  part  of  it,  Eve." 

He  was  really  glad  to  see  her ;  to  be  drawn  away 
by  it  all  from  the  somberness  of  his  thoughts.  The 
night  before  he  had  left  the  train  on  the  Jersey  side 
and  had  ferried  over  so  that  he  might  view  once 
more  the  sky-line  of  the  great  city.  There  had  been 
a  stiff  breeze  blowing  and  it  had  seemed  to  him  that 
he  drew  the  first  full  breath  since  the  moment  when 
he  had  walked  with  Geoffrey  in  the  wood.  What 
had  followed  had  been  like  a  dream  ;  the  knowledge 
that  the  great  surgeon  wanted  him,  his  mother's 
quick  service  in  helping  him  pack  his  bag,  the  walk 
to  Bower's  in  the  fragrant  dark  to  catch  the  ten 
o'clock  train  ;  the  moment  on  the  porch  at  Bower's 
when  he  had  learned  from  a  word  dropped  by 
Beulah  that  Anne  was  on  the  river  with  Geoffrey. 

And  now  it  all  seemed  so  far  away — the  river  with 

1 80 


A  MASCULINE  PRIVILEGE 

the  moon's  broad  path,  Bower's  low  house  and  its 
yellow-lighted  panes,  the  silence,  the  darkness. 

Since  morning  he  had  done  a  thousand  things. 
He  had  been  to  the  hospital  and  had  yielded  once 
more  to  the  spell  of  its  splendid  machinery  ;  he  had 
talked  with  Austin  and  the  talk  had  been  like  wine 
to  a  thirsty  soul.  In  such  an  atmosphere  a  man 
would  have  little  time  to — think.  He  craved  the 
action,  the  excitement,  the  uplift. 

He  came  back  to  Eve's  prattle.  "  I  told  Winifred 
Ames  we  would  come  to  her  little  supper  after  the 
play.  I  was  to  have  gone  with  her  and  Pip  and 
Jimmie  Ford.  Tony  is  away.  But  when  you 
'phoned,  I  called  the  first  part  of  it  off.  I  wanted 
to  have  a  little  time  just  with  you,  Richard." 

He  smiled  at  her.     "  Who  is  Jimmie  Ford  ?  " 

"  A  lovely  youth  who  is  in  love  with  me — or 
with  my  money — he  was  at  your  birthday  party, 
Dicky  Boy  ;  don't  you  remember  ?  " 

"The  Blue  Butterfly?  Yes.  Is  he  another  vic- 
tim, Eve  ?  " 

She  shrugged.  "  Who  knows  ?  If  he  is  in  love 
with  me,  he'll  get  hurt ;  if  he  is  in  love  with  Aunt 
Maude's  money,  he  won't  get  it.  Oh,  how  can  a 
woman  know?"  The  lightness  left  her  voice 
"  Sometimes  I  think  that  I'll  go  off  somewhere  and 
see  if  somebody  won't  love  me  for  what  I  am,  and 
not  for  what  he  thinks  Aunt  Maude  is  going  to 
leave  me." 

181 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

11  And  you  with  a  string  of  scalps  at  your  belt, 
and  Pip  ready  at  any  moment  to  die  for  you." 

She  nodded.  "  Pip  is  pure  gold.  Nobody  can 
question  his  motives.  And  anyhow  he  has  more 
money  than  I  can  ever  hope  to  have.  But  I  am  not 
in  love  with  him,  Dicky." 

"  You  are  not  in  love  with  anybody.  You  are  a 
cold-blooded  little  thing,  Eve.  A  man  would  need 
much  fire  to  melt  your  ice." 

"Would  he?" 

"  You  know  he  would." 

He  swept  away  from  her  petulances  to  the  thing 
which  was  for  the  moment  uppermost  in  his  mind. 
"  I  have  had  an  offer,  Eve,  from  Austin.  He  wants 
an  assistant,  a  younger  man  who  can  work  into 
his  practice.  It  is  a  wonderful  working  oppor- 
tunity." 

"  It  would  be  wicked  to  throw  it  away,"  she  told 
him,  breathlessly,  "  wicked,  Richard." 

"  It  looks  that  way.  But  there's  mother  to  think 
of,  and  Crossroads  has  come  to  mean  a  lot  to  me, 
Eve." 

"  Oh,  but  New  York,  Dicky  1  Think  of  the  good 
times  we'd  have,  and  of  your  getting  into  Austin's 
line  of  work  and  his  patients.  You  would  be  rolling 
in  your  own  limousine  before  you'd  know  it." 

Rolling  in  his  own  limousine !  And  missing 
the  rhythm  of  big  Ben's  measured  trot ! 


"/  think — she  was  the — most  beautiful 
182 


A  MASCULINE  PRIVILEGE 

As  they  motored  to  Winifred's,  Eve  spoke  of  his 
quiet  mood.  "  Why  don't  you  talk,  Dicky  ?  " 

"  It  has  been  a  busy  day — I'll  wake  up  pres- 
ently and  realize  that  I  am  here." 

It  was  before  he  went  down-stairs  at  the  Dutton- 
Ames  that  he  had  a  moment  alone  with  Jimmie  Ford. 

Jimmie  was  not  in  the  best  of  moods.  Winifred 
had  asked  him  a  week  ago  to  join  a  choice  quartette 
which  included  Pip  and  Eve.  Of  course  Meade 
made  a  troublesome  fourth,  but  Jimmie's  conceit 
saved  him  from  realizing  the  real  fact  of  the  impor- 
tance of  the  plain  and  heavy  Pip  to  that  group. 
And  now,  things  had  been  shifted,  so  that  Eve  had 
stayed  to  talk  to  a  country  doctor,  and  he  had  been 
left  to  the  callow  company  of  an  indefinite  debu- 
tante whom  Winifred  had  invited  to  fill  the  vacancy. 

"  When  did  you  come  down,  Brooks  ?  "  he  asked 
coldly. 

"  This  morning." 

"  Nice  old  place  of  yours  in  Harford." 

"Yes." 

"Owned  it  long?" 

"  Several  generations." 

"Oh,  ancestral  halls,  and  all  that ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  I  saw  Cynthia  Warfield's  picture  on  the  wall 
— used  to  know  the  family  down  in  Carroll — our 
old  estates  joined — Anne  Warfield  and  I  were 
brought  up  together." 

183 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

They  had  reached  the  head  of  the  stairway.  Richard 
stopped  and  stood  looking  down.  "  Anne  Warfield?" 

"Yes.  Surprised  to  find  her  teaching.  I  fancy 
they've  been  pretty  hard  up — grandfather  drank, 
and  all  that,  you  know." 

"  I  didn't  know."  It  was  now  Richard's  turn  to 
speak  coldly. 

"  Oh,  yes,  ran  through  with  all  their  money. 
Years  ago.  Anne's  a  little  queen.  Engaged  to  her 
once  myself,  you  know.  Boy  and  girl  affair,  broken 
off " 

Below  them  in  the  hall,  Richard  could  see  the 
women  with  whom  he  was  to  sup.  Shining,  shim- 
mering figures  in  silk  and  satin  and  tulle.  For 
these,  softness  and  ease  of  living.  And  that  other 
one  1  Oh,  the  cheap  little  gown,  the  braided  hair  1 
Before  he  had  known  her  she  had  been  Jimmie's 
and  now  she  was  Geoffrey's.  And  he  had  fatuously 
thought  himself  the  first. 

He  threw  himself  uproariously  into  the  fun  which 
followed.  After  all,  it  was  good  to  be  with  them 
again,  good  to  hear  the  familiar  talk  of  people  and 
of  things,  good  to  eat  and  drink  and  be  merry  in 
the  fashion  of  the  town,  good  to  have  this  taste  of 
the  old  tumultuous  life. 

He  and  Eve  went  home  together.  Philip's  honest 
face  clouded  as  he  saw  them  off.  "  Don't  run  away 
with  her,  Brooks,"  he  said,  as  he  leaned  in  to  have  a 
last  look  at  her.  "  Good-night,  little  lady." 

184 


A  MASCULINE  PRIVILEGE 

"  Good-night." 

It  was  when  they  were  motoring  through  the  park 
that  Eve  said,  "  I  am  troubled  about  Pip." 

"Why?" 

"Oh,  I  sometimes  have  a  feeling  that  he  has  a 
string  tied  to  me — and  that  he  is  pulling  me — his 
way.  And  I  don't  want  to  go.  But  I  shall,  if  some- 
thing doesn't  save  me  from  him,  Richard." 

"  You  can  save  yourself." 

"That's  all  you  know  about  it.  Women  take 
what  they  can  get  in  this  world,  not  what  they 
want.  Every  morning  Pip  sends  me  flowers,  sweet- 
heart roses  to-day,  and  lilies  yesterday,  and  before 
that  gardenias  and  orchids,  and  when  I  open  the 
boxes  every  flower  seems  to  be  shouting,  '  Come 
and  marry  me,  come  and  marry  me.' " 

"  No  woman  need  marry  a  man  she  doesn't  care 
for,  Eve." 

"  Lots  of  them  do." 

"  You  won't.     You  are  too  sensible." 

" Am  I  ?  " 

"  Of  course." 

She  sighed  a  little.  "  I  am  not  half  as  sensible  as 
you  think." 

When  they  reached  home,  they  found  Aunt  Maude 
before  them.  She  had  been  unswathed  from  her 
veil  and  her  cloak,  released  from  her  black  velvet,  and 
was  comfortable  before  her  sitting-room  fire  in  a  pad- 
ded wisteria  robe  and  a  boudoir  cap  with  satin  bow. 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

Underneath  the  cap  there  were  no  flat  gray  curls. 
These  were  whisked  mysteriously  away  each  night 
by  Hannah,  the  maid,  to  be  returned  in  the  morn- 
ing, fresh  from  their  pins  with  no  hurt  to  Aunt 
Maude's  old  head. 

She  greeted  Richard  cordially.  "  I  sent  Hannah 
down  when  I  heard  you.  Eve  didn't  let  me  know 
you  were  here ;  she  never  lets  me  know.  And  now 
tell  me  about  your  poor  mother." 

"  Why  poor,  dear  lady  ?  You  know  she  loves 
Crossroads." 

"  How  anybody  can I'd   die  of  loneliness. 

Now  to-night — so  many  people  of  my  own  kind " 

"  Everybody  in  black  velvet  or  brocade,  every- 
body with  badges,  everybody  with  blue  blood,"  Eve 
interrupted  flippantly  ;  "  nobody  with  ideas,  nobody 
with  enthusiasms,  nobody  with  an  ounce  of  origi- 
nality— ugh ! " 

"My  dear !" 

"  Dicky,  Aunt  Maude's  idea  of  Heaven  is  a  place 
where  everybody  wears  coronets  instead  of  halos, 
and  where  the  angel  chorus  is  a  Dutch  version  of 
4  God  save  the  King.'  " 

"  My  idea  of  Heaven,"  Aunt  Maude  retorted,  "  is 
a  place  where  young  girls  have  ladylike  manners." 

Richard  roared.  It  had  been  long  since  he  had 
tasted  this  atmosphere  of  salt  and  spice.  Aunt  Maude 
and  her  sprightly  niece  were  as  good  as  a  play. 

"  How  long  shall  you  be  in  town,  Richard  ?  " 
186 


A  MASCULINE  PRIVILEGE 

"Three  or  four  days.  It  depends  on  the  condi- 
tion of  our  patient  It  may  be  necessary  to  operate 
again,  and  Austin  wants  me  to  be  here." 

"  Aunt  Maude,  Dicky  may  come  back  to  New 
York  to  live." 

"  He  should  never  have  left.  What  does  your 
mother  think  of  it  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  told  her  of  Austin's  offer.  I  shall  write 
to-night." 

"  If  she  has  a  grain  of  sense,  she'll  make  you 
take  it." 

Eve  was  restless.  "  Come  on  down,  Dicky.  It  is 
time  that  Aunt  Maude  was  in  bed." 

"  I  never  go  until  you  do,  Eve,  and  in  my  day 
young  men  went  home  before  morning." 

"  Dearest,  Dicky  shall  leave  in  ten  minutes.  I'll 
send  him." 

But  when  they  were  once  more  in  the  great  draw- 
ing-room, she  forgot  the  time  limit.  "  Don't  let 
your  mother  settle  things  for  you,  Dicky.  Think 
of  yourself  and  your  future.  Of  your — manhood. 
Dicky — please." 

She  was  very  lovely  as  she  stood  before  him,  with 
her  hands  on  his  shoulders.  "  I  want  you  to  be  the 
biggest  of  them — all,"  she  said,  and  her  laugh  was 
tremulous. 

"  I  know.     Eve,  I  want  to  stay." 

"  Oh,  Dicky— really  ?  " 

"  Really,  Eve." 

187 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

Their  hands  came  together  in  a  warm  clasp. 

She  let  him  go  after  that.  There  had  been  noth- 
ing more  than  brotherly  warmth  in  his  manner,  but 
it  was  enough  that  in  the  days  to  come  she  was  to 
have  him  near  her. 

Richard,  writing  to  his  mother,  told  her  some- 
thing of  his  state  of  mind.  "  I'll  admit  that  it  tempts 
me.  It  is  a  big  thing,  a  very  big  thing,  to  work 
with  a  man  like  that.  Yet  knowing  how  you  feel 
about  it,  I  dare  not  decide.  We  shall  have  to  face 
one  thing,  however.  The  Crossroads  practice  will 
never  be  a  money-making  practice.  I  know  how 
little  money  means  to  you,  but  the  lack  of  it  will 
mean  that  I  shall  be  tied  to  rather  small  things  as 
the  years  go  on.  I  should  like  to  be  one  of  the  Big 
Men,  mother.  You  see  I  am  being  very  frank.  I'll 
admit  that  I  dreamed  with  you — of  bringing  all  my 
talents  to  the  uplift  of  a  small  community,  of  reviv- 
ing at  Crossroads  the  dignity  of  other  days.  But — 
perhaps  we  have  dreamed  too  much — the  world 
doesn't  wait  for  the  dreamers — the  only  way  is  to 
join  the  procession." 

In  the  day  which  intervened  between  his  letter  and 
his  mother's  answer,  he  had  breakfast  with  Eve  in 
the  room  with  the  flame-colored  fishes  and  the  par- 
rot and  the  green-eyed  cat  He  motored  with  Eve 
out  to  Westchester,  and  they  had  lunch  at  an  inn  on 
the  side  of  a  hiU'which  overlooked  the  Hudson  ;  later 
they  went  to  a  matinee,  to  tea  in  a  special  little 

1 88 


A  MASCULINE  PRIVILEGE 

corner  of  a  down-town  hotel  for  the  sake  of  old  days, 
then  back  again  to  dress  for  dinner  at  Eve's,  with 
Aunt  Maude  at  the  head  of  the  table,  and  Tony  and 
Winifred  and  Pip  completing  the  party.  Then 
another  play,  another  supper,  another  ride  home  with 
Eve,  and  in  the  morning  in  quiet  contrast  to  all  this, 
his  mother's  letter. 

"  Dear  Boy,"  she  said,  "  I  am  glad  you  spoke  to 
me  frankly  of  what  you  feel.  I  want  no  secrets  be- 
tween us,  no  reservations,  no  sacrifices  which  in  the 
end  may  mean  a  barrier  between  us. 

"Our  sojourn  at  Crossroads  has  been  an  experi- 
ment. And  it  has  failed.  I  had  hoped  that  as  the 
days  went  on,  you  might  find  happiness.  Indeed,  I 
had  been  deceiving  myself  with  the  thought  that  you 
were  happy.  But  now  I  know  that  you  are  not,  and 
I  know,  too,  what  it  must  mean  to  you  to  feel  that 
from  among  all  the  others  you  have  been  chosen  to 
help  a  great  man  like  Dr.  Austin,  who  was  the  friend 
of  my  father,  and  my  friend  through  everything. 

"  But  Richard,  I  can't  go  back.  I  literally  crawled 
to  Crossroads,  after  my  years  in  New  York,  as  a 
wounded  animal  seeks  its  lair.  And  I  have  a  mor- 
bid shrinking  from  it  all,  unworthy  of  me,  perhaps, 
but  none  the  less  impossible  to  overcome.  I  feel 
that  the  very  stones  of  the  streets  would  speak  of  the 
tragedy  and  dishonor  of  the  past :  houses  would 
stare  at  me,  the  crowds  would  shun  me. 

"  And  now  I  have  this  to  propose.  That  I  stay 
189 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

here  at  Crossroads,  keeping  the  old  house  open  for 
you.  David  is  near  me,  and  any  one  of  Cousin 
Mary  Tyson's  daughters  would  be  glad  to  come  to 
me.  And  you  shall  run  down  at  week-ends,  and  tell 
me  all  about  it,  and  I  shall  live  in  your  letters  and  in 
the  things  which  you  have  to  tell.  We  can  be  one 
in  spirit,  even  though  there  are  miles  between  us. 
This  is  the  only  solution  which  seems  possible  to  me 
at  this  moment.  I  cannot  hold  you  back  from  what 
may  be  your  destiny.  I  can  only  pray  here  in  my 
old  home  for  the  happiness  and  success  that  must 
come  to  you — my  boy — my  little — boy " 

The  letter  broke  off  there.  Richard,  high  up  in  the 
room  of  the  big  hotel,  found  himself  pacing  the 
floor.  Back  of  the  carefully  penned  lines  of  his 
mother's  letter  he  could  see  her  slender  tense  figure, 
the  whiteness  of  her  face,  the  shadow  in  her  eyes. 
How  often  he  had  seen  it  when  a  boy,  how  often  he 
had  sworn  that  when  he  was  the  master  of  the  house 
he  would  make  her  happy. 

The  telephone  rang.  It  was  Eve.  "  I  was  afraid 
you  might  have  left  for  the  hospital." 

"  I  am  leaving  in  a  few  minutes." 

"  Can  you  go  for  a  ride  with  me  ?" 

"  In  the  afternoon.  There's  to  be  another  opera- 
tion— it  may  be  very  late  before  I  am  through." 

"  Not  too  late  for  dinner  out  of  town  somewhere 
and  a  ride  under  the  May  moon."  Her  voice  rang 
high  and  happy. 

190 


A  MASCULINE  PRIVILEGE 

For  the  rest  of  the  morning  he  had  no  time  to 
think  of  his  own  affairs.  The  operation  was  ex- 
tremely rare  and  interesting,  and  Austin's  skill  was 
superb.  Richard  felt  as  if  he  were  taking  part  in  a 
play,  in  which  the  actors  were  the  white  clad  and 
competent  doctors  and  nurses,  and  the  stage  was 
the  surgical  room. 

Eve  coming  for  him,  found  him  tired  and  taciturn. 
She  respected  his  mood,  and  said  little,  and  they 
rode  out  and  out  from  the  town  and  up  and  up  into 
the  Westchester  hills,  dotted  with  dogwood,  pink  and 
white  like  huge  nosegays.  As  the  night  came  on 
there  was  the  fragrance  of  the  gardens,  the  lights  of 
the  little  towns  ;  then  once  more  the  shadows  as  they 
swept  again  into  the  country. 

"  We  will  go  as  far  as  we  dare,"  Eve  said.  "  I 
know  an  adorable  place  to  dine." 

She  tried  more  than  once  to  bring  him  to  speak 
of  Austin,  but  he  put  her  off.  "  I  am  dead  tired,  dear 
girl ;  you  talk  until  we  have  something  to  eat." 

"Oh,"  Eve  surveyed  him  scornfully,  "oh,  men 
and  their  appetites  1 " 

But  she  had  a  thousand  things  to  tell  him,  and  her 
light  chatter  carried  him  away  from  somber  thoughts, 
so  that  when  they  reached  at  last  the  quaint  hostelry 
toward  which  their  trip  had  tended,  he  was  ready  to 
meet  Eve's  mood  half-way,  and  enter  with  some  zest 
upon  their  gay  adventure.  She  chose  a  little  table 
on  a  side  porch,  where  they  were  screened  from  ob- 

191 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

servation,  and  which  overlooked  the  river,  and  there 
took  off  her  hat  and  powdered  her  nose,  and  gave 
her  attention  to  the  selection  of  the  dinner. 

"  A  clear  soup,  Dicky  Boy,  and  Maryland  chicken, 
hot  asparagus,  a  Russian  dressing  for  our  lettuce, 
and  at  the  end  red  raspberries  with  little  cakes. 
They  are  sponge  cakes,  Dicky,  filled  with  cream, 
and  they  are  food  for  the  gods." 

He  was  hungry  and  tired  and  he  wanted  to  eat. 
He  was  glad  when  the  food  came  on. 

When  he  finished  he  leaned  back  and  talked  shop. 
"  If  you  don't  like  it,"  he  told  Eve,  "  I'll  stop.  Some 
women  hate  it." 

"  I  love  it,"  Eve  said.  "  Dicky,  when  I  dream  of 
your  future  you  are  always  at  the  top  of  things,  with 
smaller  men  running  after  you  and  taking  your 
orders." 

He  smiled.  "  Don't  dream.  It  doesn't  pay.  I've 
stopped." 

She  glanced  at  him.     His  face  was  stern. 

"  What's  up,  Dicky  Boy  ?  " 

He  laughed  without  mirth.  "  Oh,  I'm  beginning 
to  think  we  are  puppets  pulled  by  strings  ;  that 
things  happen  as  Fate  wills  and  not  as  we  want 
them." 

"  Men  haven't  any  right  to  talk  that  way.  It's 
their  world.  If  you  were  a  woman  you  might  com- 
plain. Look  at  me  !  Everything  that  I  have  comes 
from  Aunt  Maude.  She  could  leave  me  without  a 

192 


A  MASCULINE  PRIVILEGE 

cent  if  she  chose,  and  she  knows  it.  She  owns  me, 
and  unless  I  marry  she'll  own  me  until  I  die." 

"  You'll  marry,  Eve.     Old  Pip  will  see  to  that." 

"  Pip,"  passionately.  "  Dicky,  why  do  you  always 
fling  Pip  in  my  face  ?  " 

"Eve !" 

"  You  do.  Everybody  does.  And  I  don't  want 
him." 

"  Then  don't  have  him.  There  are  others.  And 
you  needn't  lose  your  temper  over  a  little  thing  like 
that." 

"  It  isn't  a  little  thing." 

"Oh,  well "  The  conversation  lapsed  into 

silence  until  Eve  said,  "  I  was  horrid — and  I  think 
we  had  better  be  getting  back,  Dicky." 

Again  in  the  big  limousine,  with  the  stolid  chauf- 
feur separated  from  them  by  the  glass  screen,  she 
said,  softly,  "  Oh,  Dicky,  it  seems  too  good  to  be 
true  that  we  shall  have  other  nights  like  this — other 
rides.  When  will  you  come  up  for  good  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  coming,  Eve." 

She   turned  to  him,  her  face  frozen  into  whiteness. 

"Not  coming?     Why  not  ?" 

"  While  mother  lives  I  must  make  her  happy." 

"  Oh,  don't  be  goody-goody." 

He  blazed.     "  I'm  not." 

"  You  are  Aren't  you  ever  going  to  live  your 
own  life?" 

"  I  am  living  it.     But  I  can't  break  mother's  heart." 

193 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

"  You  might  as  well  break  hers  as — mine." 

He  stared  down  at  her.  Mingled  forever  after 
with  his  thoughts  of  that  moment  was  a  blurred 
vision  of  her  whiteness  and  stillness.  Her  slim 
hands  were  crossed  tensely  on  her  knees. 

He  laid  one  of  his  own  awkwardly  over  them. 
"  Dear  girl,"  he  said,  "  you  don't  in  the  least  mean  it." 

"  I  do.  Dicky,  why  shouldn't  I  say  it  ?  Why 
shouldn't  I  ?  Hasn't  a  woman  the  right  ?  Hasn't 
she?" 

She  was  shaking  with  silent  sobs,  the  tears  run- 
ning down  her  cheeks.  He  had  not  seen  her  cry 
like  this  since  little  girlhood,  when  her  mother  had 
died,  and  he,  a  clumsy  lad,  had  tried  to  comfort  her. 

He  was  faced  by  a  situation  so  stupendous  that 
for  a  moment  he  sat  there  stunned.  Proud  little 
Eve  for  love  of  him  had  made  the  supreme  sacrifice 
of  her  pride.  Could  any  man  in  his  maddest  mo- 
ment have  imagined  a  thing  like  this ! 

He  bent  down  to  her,  and  took  her  hands  in  his. 

"  Hush,  Eve,  hush.  I  can't  bear  to  see  you  cry. 
I'm  not  the  fellow  to  make  you  happy,  dear." 

Her  head  dropped  against  his  shoulder.  The 
perfumed  gold  of  her  hair  was  against  his  cheeks. 
"  No  one  else  can  make  me  happy,  Dicky." 

Then  he  felt  the  world  whirl  about  him,  and  it 
seemed  to  him  as  he  answered  that  his  voice  came 
from  a  long  distance. 

"  If  you'll  marry  me,  Eve,  I'll  stay." 
194 


A  MASCULINE  PRIVILEGE 

It  was  the  knightly  thing  to  do,  and  the  necessary 
thing.  Yet  as  they  swept  on  through  the  night,  his 
mother's  face,  all  the  joy  struck  from  it,  seemed  to 
stare  at  him  out  of  the  darkness. 


195 


CHAPTER  XIII 

In   Which   Geoffrey  Plays  Cave  Man. 

MINE  OWN  UNCLE: 
I  don't  know  whether  to  begin  at  the  begin- 
ning or  at  the  end  of  what  I  have  to  tell  you.  And 
even  now  as  I  think  back  over  the  events  of  the  last 
twenty-four  hours  I  feel  that  I  must  have  dreamed 
them,  and  that  I  will  wake  and  find  that  nothing  has 
really  happened. 

But  something  has  happened,  and  "  of  a  strange- 
ness "  which  makes  it  seem  to  belong  to  some  of  those 
queer  old  dime  "  thrillers  "  which  you  never  wanted 
me  to  read. 

Last  night  Geoffrey  Fox  asked  me  to  go  out  with 
him  on  the  river.  I  don't  often  go  at  night,  yet 
as  there  was  a  moon,  it  seemed  as  if  I  might. 

We  went  in  Brinsley  Tyson's  motor  boat.  It  is 
big  and  roomy  and  is  equipped  with  everything  to 
make  one  comfortable  for  extended  trips.  I  won- 
dered a  little  that  Geoffrey  should  take  it,  for  he  has 
a  little  boat  of  his  own,  but  he  said  that  Mr.  Tyson 
had  offered  it,  and  they  had  been  out  in  it  all  day. 

Well,  it  was  lovely  on  the  water  ;  I  was  feeling 
tired  and  as  blue  as  blue — some  day  I  may  tell  you 

196 


THE  CAFE  MAN 

about  that,  Uncle  Rod,  and  I  was  glad  of  the  quiet 
and  beauty  of  it  all ;  and  of  late  Geoffrey  and  I 
have  been  such  good  friends. 

Can't  you  ever  really  know  people,  Uncle  Rod,  or 
am  I  so  dull  and  stupid  that  I  misunderstand  ?  Men 
are  such  a  puzzle — all  except  you,  you  darling 
dear — and  if  you  were  young  and  not  my  uncle, 
even  you  might  be  as  much  of  a  puzzle  as  the  rest. 

Well,  I  would  never  have  believed  it  of  Geoffrey 
Fox,  and  even  now  I  can't  really  feel  that  he  was  re- 
sponsible. But  it  isn't  what  I  think  but  what  you  will 
think  that  is  important — for  I  have,  somehow,  ceased 
to  believe  in  myself. 

It  was  when  we  reached  the  second  bridge  that  I 
told  Geoffrey  that  we  must  turn  back.  We  had, 
even  then,  gone  farther  than  I  had  intended.  But 
as  we  started  up-stream,  I  felt  that  we  would  get  to 
Bower's  before  Peter  went  back  on  the  bridge,  which 
is  always  the  signal  for  the  house  to  close,  although 
it  is  never  really  closed ;  but  the  lights  are  turned 
down  and  the  family  go  to  bed,  and  I  have  always 
known  that  I  ought  not  to  stay  out  after  that. 

Well,  just  as  we  left  the  second  bridge,  something 
happened  to  the  motor. 

Uncle  Rod,  that  was  last  night,  and  I  didn't  get 
back  to  Bower's  until  a  few  hours  ago,  and  here  is 
the  whole  truth  before  I  write  any  more 

Geoffrey  Fox  tried  to  run  away  with  me  ! 

It  would  seem  like  a  huge  joke  if  it  were  not  so 
197 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

serious.  I  don't  know  how  he  got  such  an  idea  in 
his  head.  Perhaps  he  thought  that  life  was  like  one 
of  his  books — that  all  he  had  to  do  was  to  plan  a 
plot,  and  then  make  it  work  out  in  his  own  way.  He 
said,  in  that  first  awful  moment,  when  I  knew  what 
he  had  done,  "  I  thought  I  could  play  Cave  Man 
and  get  away  with  it."  You  see,  he  hadn't  taken 
into  consideration  that  I  wasn't  a  Cave  Woman  1 

When  the  engine  first  went  wrong  I  wasn't  in  the 
least  worried.  He  fixed  it,  and  we  went  on.  Then 
it  stopped  and  we  drifted :  the  moon  went  down  and 
it  was  cold,  and  finally  Geoffrey  made  me  curl  up 
among  the  cushions.  I  felt  that  it  must  be  very 
late,  but  Geoffrey  showed  me  his  watch,  and  it  was 
only  a  little  after  ten.  I  knew  Peter  wouldn't  be 
going  to  the  bridge  until  eteven,  and  I  hoped  by 
that  time  we  would  be  home. 

But  we  weren't.  We  were  far,  far  down  the  river. 
At  last  I  gave  up  hope  of  arriving  before  the  house 
closed,  but  I  knew  that  I  could  explain  to  Mrs. 
Bower. 

After  that  I  napped  and  nodded,  for  I  was  very 
tired,  and  all  the  time  Geoffrey  tinkered  with  the 
broken  motor.  Each  time  that  I  waked  I  asked 
questions  but  he  always  quieted  me — and  at  last — as 
the  dawn  began  to  light  the  world,  a  pale  gray 
spectral  sort  of  light,  Uncle  Rod,  I  saw  that  the 
shore  on  one  side  of  us  was  not  far  away,  but  on  the 
other  it  was  a  mere  dark  line  in  the  distance — double 

198 


THE  CAVE  MAN 

the  width  that  the  river  is  at  Bower's.  Geoffrey  was 
standing  up  and  steering  toward  a  little  pier  that 
stuck  its  nose  into  shallow  water.  Back  of  the  pier 
was  what  seemed  to  be  an  old  warehouse,  and  in  a 
clump  of  trees  back  of  that  there  was  a  thin  church 
spire. 

I  said,  "  Where  are  we  ?  "  and  he  said,  "  I  am  not 
sure,  but  I  am  going  in  to  see  if  I  can  get  the  motor 
mended." 

I  couldn't  think  of  anything  but  how  worried  the 
Bowers  would  be.  "  You  must  find  a  telephone,"  I 
told  him,  "  and  call  Beulah,  and  let  her  know  what 
has  happened." 

He  ran  up  to  the  landing  and  fastened  the  boat, 
and  then  he  helped  me  out.  "  We  will  sit  here  and 
have  a  bit  of  breakfast  first,"  he  said  ;  "  there's  some 
coffee  left  in  Brinsley's  hot  and  cold  bottle,  and 
some  supplies  under  the  stern  seat." 

It  was  really  quite  cheerful  sitting  there,  eating  sar- 
dines and  crackers  and  olives  and  orange  marmalade. 
A  fresh  breeze  was  blowing,  and  the  river  was 
wrinkled  all  over  its  silver  surface,  and  we  could  see 
nothing  but  water  ahead  of  us,  straight  to  the 
horizon,  where  there  was  just  the  faint  streak  of  a 
steamer's  smoke. 

"We  must  be  almost  in  the  Bay,"  I  said. 
"  Couldn't  you  have  steered  up-stream  instead  of 
down  ?  " 

He  sat  very  still  for  a  moment  looking  at  me,  and 
199 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

then  he  said  quickly  and  sharply,  "  I  didn't  want  to 
go  up-stream.  I  wanted  to  go  down.  And  I  came 
in  here  because  I  saw  a  church  spire,  and  where 
there  is  a  church  there  is  always  a  preacher.  Will 
you  marry  me,  Mistress  Anne  ?  " 

At  first  I  thought  that  he  had  lost  his  mind. 
Uncle  Rod,  I  don't  think  that  I  shall  ever  see  a 
sardine  or  a  cracker  without  a  vision  of  Geoffrey 
with  his  breakfast  in  his  hand  and  his  face  as  white 
as  chalk  above  it. 

"  That's  a  very  silly  joke,"  I  said.  "  Why  should 
I  marry  you?" 

He  looked  at  me,  and — I  didn't  need  any  answer, 
for  it  came  to  me  then  that  I  had  been  out  all  night 
on  the  river  with  him,  and  that  he  was  thinking  of  a 
way  to  quiet  people's  tongues  1 

I  tried  to  speak,  but  my  voice  shook,  and  finally  I 
managed  to  stammer  that  when  we  got  back  I  was 
sure  it  would  be  all  right. 

"  It  won't  be  all  right,"  he  said  ;  "  the  world  will 
have  things  to  say  about  you,  and  I'd  rather  die 
than  have  them  say  it.  And  I  could  make  you 
happy,  Anne." 

Then  I  told  him  that  I  did  not  love  him,  that  he 
was  my  dear  friend,  my  brother — and  suddenly  his 
face  grew  red,  and  he  came  over  and  caught  hold  of 
my  hands.  "  I  am  not  your  brother,"  he  said.  "  I 
want  you  whether  you  want  me  or  not.  I  could 
make  you  love  me — I've  got  to  have  you  in  my  life, 

200 


THE  CAVE  MAN 

I  am  not  going  on  alone  to  meet  darkness — and 
despair." 

Oh,  Uncle  Rod,  then  I  knew  and  I  looked  straight 
at  him  and  asked  :  "  Geoffrey  Fox,  did  you  break  the 
motor  ?  " 

"  It  isn't  broken,"  he  said ;  "  there  has  never  been 
a  thing  the  matter  with  it." 

I  think  for  the  first  time  that  I  was  a  little  afraid. 
Not  of  him,  but  of  what  he  had  done. 

"Oh,  how  could  you,"  I  said,  "how  could  you?" 

And  it  was  then  that  he  said,  "  I  thought  that  I 
could  play  Cave  Man  and  get  away  with  it." 

After  that  he  told  me  how  much  he  cared.  He 
said  that  I  had  helped  him  and  inspired  him.  That 
I  had  shown  him  a  side  of  himself  that  no  one  else 
had  ever  shown.  That  I  had  made  him  believe  in 
himself — and  in — God.  That  if  he  didn't  have  me 
in  his  life  his  future  would  be— dead.  He  begged 
and  begged  me  to  let  him  take  me  into  the  little 
town  and  find  some  one  to  marry  us.  He  said  that 
if  we  went  back  I  would  be  lost  to  him — that — that 
Brooks  would  get  me — that  was  the  way  he  put  it, 
Uncle  Rod.  He  said  that  he  was  going  blind  ;  that 
I  hadn't  any  heart ;  that  he  would  love  me  as  no  one 
else  could ;  that  he  would  write  his  books  for  me ; 
that  he  would  spend  his  whole  life  making  it  up 
to  me. 

I  don't  know  how  I  held  out  against  him.  But  I 
did.  Something  in  me  seemed  to  say  that  I  must 

201 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

hold  out.  Some  sense  of  dignity  and  of  self-respect, 
and  at  last  I  conquered. 

"I  will  not  marry  you,"  I  said;  "don't  speak  of 
it  again.  I  am  going  back  to  Bower's.  I  am  not  a 
heroine  of  a  melodrama,  and  there's  no  use  to  act  as 
if  I  had  done  an  unpardonable  thing.  I  haven't,  and 
the  Bowers  won't  think  it,  and  nobody  else  will 
know.  But  you  have  hurt  me  more  than  I  can  tell 
by  what  you  have  done  to-night.  When  you  first 
came  to  Bower's  there  were  things  about  you  that  I 
didn't  like,  but — as  I  came  to  know  you,  I  thought 
I  had  found  another  man  in  you.  The  night  at  the 
Crossroads  ball  you  seemed  like  a  big  kind  brother 
— and  I  told  you  what  I  had  suffered,  and  now  you 
have  made  me  suffer." 

And  then — oh,  I  don't  quite  know  how  to  tell  you. 
He  dropped  on  his  knees  at  my  feet  and  hid  his  face 
in  my  dress  and  cried — hard  dry  sobs — with  his 
hands  clutching. 

I  just  couldn't  stand  it,  Uncle  Rod,  and  pres- 
ently I  was  saying,  "  Oh,  you  poor  boy,  you  poor 

boy "  and  I  think  I  smoothed  his  hair,  and  he 

whispered,  "  Can't  you  ?  "  and  I  said,  "  Oh,  Geoffrey, 
I  can't." 

At  last  he  got  control  of  himself.  He  sat  at  a 
little  distance  from  me  and  told  me  what  he  was 
going  to  do. 

"  I  think  I  was  mad,"  he  said.  "  I  can't  even  ask 
your  forgiveness,  for  I  don't  deserve  it.  I  am  going 

202 


THE  CAVE  MAN 

up  to  town  to  telephone  to  Beulah,  and  when  I  come 
back  I  will  take  you  up  the  river  where  you  can  get 
the  train.  I  shall  break  the  engine  and  leave  it 
here,  so  that  when  Brinsley  gets  it  back  there  will 
be  nothing  to  spoil  our  story." 

He  was  gone  half  an  hour.  When  he  came  he 
brought  me  a  hat.  He  had  bought  it  at  the  one 
little  store  where  he  had  telephoned,  and  he  had 
bought  one  for  himself.  I  think  we  both  laughed  a 
little  when  we  put  them  on,  although  it  wasn't  a 
laughing  matter,  but  we  did  look  funny. 

He  unfastened  the  boat,  and  we  turned  up  the 
river  and  in  about  an  hour  we  came  into  quite  a 
thriving  port  with  the  Sunday  quiet  over  everything, 
and  Geoffrey  did  things  to  the  engine  that  put  it  out 
of  commission,  and  then  he  left  it  with  a  man  on  the 
pier,  and  we  took  the  train. 

It  seems  that  all  night  at  Bower's  they  were  look- 
ing for  us.  They  even  took  other  boats,  and  fol- 
lowed. And  they  called.  I  know  that  if  Geoffrey 
heard  them  call  he  didn't  answer. 

Every  one  seemed  to  accept  our  explanation. 
Perhaps  they  thought  it  queer.  But  I  can't  help 
that. 

Geoffrey  is  going  away  to-morrow.  When  we 
were  alone  in  the  hall  for  a  moment  he  told  me  that 
he  was  going.  "  If  you  can  ever  forgive  me,"  he 
said,  "will  you  write  and  tell  me?  What  I  have 
done  may  seem  unforgivable.  But  when  a  man 

203 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

dreams  a  great  deal  he  sometimes  thinks  that  he 
can  make  his  dreams  come  true." 

Uncle  Rod,  I  think  the  worst  thing  in  the  whole 
wide  world  is  to  be  disappointed  in  people.  As  soon 
as  school  closes  I  am  coming  back  to  you.  Per- 
haps you  can  make  me  see  the  sunsets.  And  what 
do  you  say  about  life  now?  Is  it  what  we  make  it? 
Did  I  have  anything  to  do  with  this  mad  adventure? 
Yet  the  memory  of  it  will  always — smirch. 

And  if  life  isn't  what  we  make  it,  where  is  our 
hope  and  where  are  our  sunsets  ?  Tell  me  that,  you 
old  dear.  ANNE. 

P.  S.  When  I  opened  my  door  just  now,  I  found 
that  Geoffrey  had  left  on  the  threshold  his  little  Na- 
poleon, and  a  letter.  I  am  sending  the  letter  to  you. 
I  cried  over  it,  and  I  am  afraid  it  is  blurred — but  I 
haven't  time  to  make  a  copy  before  the  mail  goes. 

What  Geoffrey  said : 

MY  LITTLE  CHILD  : 

I  am  calling  you  that  because  there  is  some- 
thing so  young  and  untouched  about  you.  If  I  were 
an  artist  I  should  paint  you  as  young  Psyche — and 
there  should  be  a  hint  of  angels'  wings  in  the  air 
and  it  should  be  spring — with  a  silver  dawn.  But  if 
I  could  paint  should  I  ever  be  able  to  put  on  canvas 
the  light  in  your  eyes  when  you  have  talked  to  me 
by  the  fire,  my  kind  little  friend  whom  I  have  lost  ? 

204 


THE  CAVE  MAN 

I  cannot  even  now  understand  the  mood  that  pos- 
sessed me.  Yet  I  will  be  frank.  I  saw  you  go  into 
the  wood  with  Richard  Brooks.  I  felt  that  if  he 
should  say  to  you  what  I  was  sure  he  wanted  to  say 
that  there  would  be  no  chance  for  me — so  I  hurried 
after  you.  The  thing  which  was  going  to  happen 
must  not  happen  ;  and  I  arrived  in  time.  After  that 
I  told  Brooks  as  we  walked  back  that  I  was  going 
to  marry  you,  and  I  took  you  out  in  my  boat  intend- 
ing to  make  my  words  come  true. 

These  last  few  days  have  been  strange  days. 
Perhaps  when  I  have  described  them  you  may  find 
it  in  your  heart  to  feel  sorry  for  me.  The  book  is 
finished.  That  of  itself  has  left  me  with  a  sense  of 
loss,  as  if  I  had  put  away  from  me  something  that 
had  been  a  part  of  me.  Then — I  am  going  blind. 
Do  you  know  what  that  means,  the  desperate  mean- 
ing ?  To  lose  the  light  out  of  your  life — never  to  see 
the  river  as  I  saw  it  this  morning  ?  Never  to  see  the 
moonlight  or  the  starlight — never  to  see  your  face  ? 

The  specialist  has  given  me  a  few  months — and 
then  darkness. 

Was  it  selfishness  to  want  to  tie  you  to  a  blind 
man  ?  If  you  knew  that  you  were  losing  the  light 
wouldn't  you  want  to  steal  a  star  to  illumine  the 
night? — and  you  were  my — Star. 

I  am  going  now  to  my  little  sister,  Mimi.  She 
leaves  the  convent  in  a  few  days.  There  are  just  the 
two  of  us.  I  have  been  a  wayward  chap,  loving  my 

205 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

own  way ;  it  will  be  a  sorry  thing  for  her  to  find,  I 
fancy,  that  henceforth  I  shall  be  in  leading  strings. 

It  is  because  of  this  thing  that  is  coming  that  I 
am  begging  you  still  to  be  my  friend — to  send  me 
now  and  then  a  little  letter ;  that  I  may  feel  in  the 
night  that  you  are  holding  out  your  hand  to  me. 
There  can  be  no  greater  punishment  than  your  com- 
plete silence,  no  greater  purgatory  than  the  thought 
that  I  have  forfeited  your  respect.  Looking  into  the 
future  I  can  see  no  way  to  regain  it,  but  if  the  day 
ever  comes  when  a  Blind  Beggar  can  serve  you,  you 
will  show  that  you  have  forgiven  him  by  asking  that 
service  of  him. 

I  am  leaving  my  little  Napoleon  for  you.  You 
once  called  him  a  little  great  man.  Perhaps  those 
of  us  who  have  some  elements  of  greatness  find  our 
balance  in  something  that  is  small  and  mean  and 
mad. 

Will  you  tell  Brooks  that  you  are  not  bound  to  me 
in  any  way  ?  It  is  best  that  you  should  do  it.  I 
shall  hope  for  a  line  from  you.  If  it  does  not  come — 
if  I  have  indeed  lost  my  little  friend  through  my  own 
fault — then  indeed  the  shadows  will  shut  me  in. 

GEOFFREY. 

Uncle  Rodman  writes : 

MY  BELOVED  NIECE  : 

Once  upon  a  time  you  and  I  read  together 
"  The  Arabian  Nights,"  and  when  we  had  finished 

206 


THE  CAFE  MAN 

the  first  book  you  laid  your  little  hand  on  my  knee 
and  looked  up  at  me.  "  Is  it  true,  Uncle  Rod  ? " 
you  asked.  "Oh,  Uncle  Rod,  is  it  true?"  And  I 
said,  "  What  it  tells  about  the  Roc's  egg  and  the 
Old  Man  of  the  Sea  and  the  Serpent  is  not  true,  but 
what  it  says  about  the  actions  and  motives  of  people 
is  true,  because  people  have  acted  in  that  way  and 
have  thought  like  that  through  all  the  ages,  and 
the  tales  have  lived  because  of  it,  and  have  been 
written  in  all  languages."  I  was  sure,  when  I  said  it, 
that  you  did  not  quite  understand  ;  but  you  were  to 
grow  to  it,  which  was  all  that  was  required. 

Blessed  child,  what  your  Geoffrey  Fox  has  done, 
though  I  hate  him  for  it  and  blame  him,  is  what  other 
hotheads  have  done.  The  protective  is  not  the 
primitive  masculine  instinct.  Men  have  thought  of 
themselves  first  and  of  women  afterward  since  the 
beginning  of  time.  Only  with  Christianity  was 
chivalry  born  in  them.  And  since  many  of  our 
youths  have  elected  to  be  pagan,  what  can  you 
expect  ? 

So  your  Geoffrey  Fox  being  pagan,  primitive — 
primordial,  whatever  it  is  now  the  fashion  to  call  it, 
reverted  to  type,  and  you  were  the  victim. 

I  have  read  his  letter  and  might  find  it  in  my  heart 
to  forgive  him  were  it  not  that  he  has  made  you  suf- 
fer ;  but  that  I  cannot  forgive ;  although,  indeed,  his 
coming  blindness  is  something  that  pleads  for  him. 
and  his  fear  of  it — and  his  fear  of  losing  you. 

207 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

I  am  glad  that  you  are  coming  home  to  me. 
Margaret  and  her  family  are  going  away,  and  we 
can  have  their  big  house  to  ourselves  during  the 
summer.  We  shall  like  that,  I  am  sure,  and  we  shall 
have  many  talks,  and  try  to  straighten  out  this  mat- 
ter of  dreams — and  of  sunsets,  which  is  really  very 
important,  and  not  in  the  least  to  be  ignored. 

But  let  me  leave  this  with  you  to  ponder  on.  You 
remember  how  you  have  told  me  that  when  you  were 
a  tiny  child  you  walked  once  between  me  and  my 
good  old  friend,  General  Ross,  and  you  heard  it  said 
by  one  of  us  that  life  was  what  we  made  it.  Before  that 
you  had  always  cried  when  it  rained  ;  now  you  were 
anxious  that  the  rain  might  come  so  that  you  could 
see  if  you  could  really  keep  from  crying.  And  when 
the  rain  arrived  you  were  so  immensely  entertained 
that  you  didn't  shed  a  tear,  and  you  went  to  bed  that 
night  feeling  like  a  conqueror,  and  never  again  cried 
out  against  the  elements. 

It  would  have  been  dreadful  if  all  your  life  you 
had  gone  on  crying  about  rain,  wouldn't  it  ?  And 
isn't  this  adventure  your  rainy  day  ?  You  rose 
above  it,  dearest  child.  I  am  proud  of  the  way  you 
handled  your  mad  lover. 

Life  is  what  we  make  it.  Never  doubt  that. 
"  He  knows  the  water  best  who  has  waded  through 
it,"  and  I  have  lived  long  and  have  learned  my  les- 
son. When  I  knew  that  I  could  paint  no  more 
real  pictures  I  knew  that  I  must  have  dream  pic- 

208 


THE  CAFE  MAN 

tures  to  hang  on  the  walls  of  memory.  Shall  I 
make  you  a  little  catalogue  of  them,  dear  heart — 
thus : 

No.  i. — Your  precious  mother  sewing  by  the  west 
window  in  our  shadowed  sitting-room,  her  head 
haloed  by  the  sunset. 

No.  2. — Anne  in  a  blue  pinafore,  with  the  wind 
blowing  her  hair  back  on  a  gray  March  morning. 

No.  3. — Anne  in  a  white  frock  amid  a  blur  of 
candle-light  on  Christmas 

Oh,  my  list  would  be  long !  People  have  said 
that  I  have  lacked  pride  because  I  have  chosen  to 
take  my  troubles  philosophically.  There  have  been 
times  when  my  soul  has  wept.  I  have  cried  often 
on  my  rainy  days.  But — there  have  always  been 
the  sunsets — and  after  that — the  stars. 

I  fear  that  I  have  been  but  little  help  to  you.  But 
you  know  my  love — blessed  one.  And  the  eager- 
ness with  which  I  await  your  coming.  Ever  your 
own  UNCLE. 


209 


CHAPTER  XIV 

In  Which  There  is  Much  Said  of  Marriage  and  of 
Giving   in  Marriage. 

EVE'S  green-eyed  cat  sat  on  a  chair  and  watched 
the  flame-colored  fishes.  It  was  her  morning 
amusement.  When  her  mistress  came  down  she 
would  have  her  cream  and  her  nap.  In  the  mean- 
time, the  flashing,  golden  things  in  the  clear  water 
aroused  an  ancient  instinct.  She  reached  out  a  quick 
paw  and  patted  the  water,  flinging  showers  of  spark- 
ling drops  on  her  sleek  fur. 

Aunt  Maude,  eating  waffles  and  reading  her  morn- 
ing paper,  approved  her.  "  I  hope  you'll  catch 
them,"  she  said,  "  especially  the  turtles  and  the  tad- 
poles— the  idea  of  having  such  things  where  you 
eat." 

The  green-eyed  cat  licked  her  wet  paw,  then  she 
jumped  down  from  the  chair  and  trotted  to  the 
door  to  meet  Eve,  who  picked  her  up  and  hugged 
her.  "  Pats,"  she  demanded,  "  what  have  you  been 
doing?  Your  little  pads  are  wet." 

"  She's  been  fishing,"  said  Aunt  Maude,  "  in  your 
aquarium.  She  has  more  sense  than  I  thought." 

210 


MARRIAGE 

Eve,  pouring  cream  into  a  crystal  dish,  laughed. 
"  Pats  is  as  wise  as  the  ages — you  can  see  it  in  her 
eyes.  She  doesn't  say  anything,  she  just  looks. 
Women  ought  to  follow  her  example.  It's  the  mys- 
terious, the  silent,  that  draws  men.  Now  Polly 
prattles  and  prattles,  and  nobody  listens,  and  we 
all  get  a  little  tired  of  her;  don't  we,  Polly?" 

She  set  the  cream  carefully  by  the  green  cushion, 
and  Pats,  classically  posed  on  her  haunches,  lapped 
it  luxuriously.  The  Polly-parrot  coaxed  and  whee- 
dled and  was  rewarded  with  her  morning  biscuit. 
The  flame-colored  fishes  rose  to  the  snowy  particles 
which  Eve  strewed  on  the  surface  of  the  water,  and 
then  with  all  of  her  family  fed,  Eve  turned  to  the 
table,  sat  down,  and  pulled  away  Aunt  Maude's 
paper. 

"  My  dear,"  the  old  lady  protested. 

"  I  want  to  talk  to  you,"  Eve  announced.  "  Aunt 
Maude,  I'm  going  to  marry  Dicky." 

Aunt  Maude  pushed  back  her  plate  of  waffles. 
The  red  began  to  rise  in  her  cheeks.  "  Oh,  of  all 
the  fools " 

"  '  He  who  calleth  his  brother  a  fool '  "  Eve 

murmured  pensively.  "Aunt  Maude,  I'm  in  love 
with  him." 

"  You're  in  love  with  yourself,"  tartly,  "  and  with 
having  your  own  way.  The  husband  for  you  is 
Philip  Meade.  But  he  wants  you,  and  so — you 
don't  want  him." 

211 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

"  Dicky  wants  me,  too,"  Eve  said,  a  little  wist- 
fully ;  "  you  mustn't  forget  that,  Aunt  Maude." 

"  I'm  not  forgetting  it."  Then  sharply,  "  Shall 
you  go  to  live  at  Crossroads?" 

"  No.  Austin  has  made  him  an  offer.  He's  com- 
ing back  to  town." 

"  What  do  you  expect  to  live  on  ?  " 

Silence.  Then,  uncertainly,  "  I  thought  perhaps 
until  he  gets  on  his  feet  you'd  make  us  an  allow- 
ance." 

The  old  lady  exploded  in  a  short  laugh.  She 
gathered  up  her  paper  and  her  spectacles  case  and 
her  bag  of  fancy  work.  Then  she  rose.  "  Not  if 
you  marry  Richard  Brooks.  You  may  as  well  know 
that  now  as  later,  Eve.  All  your  life  you  have 
shaken  the  plum  tree  and  have  gathered  the  fruit. 
You  may  come  to  your  senses  when  you  find  there 
isn't  any  tree  to  shake." 

The  deep  red  in  the  cheeks  of  the  old  woman  was 
matched  by  the  red  that  stained  Eve's  fairness. 
"  Keep  your  money,"  she  said,  passionately ;  "  I 
can  get  along  without  it.  You've  always  made  me 
feel  like  a  pauper,  Aunt  Maude." 

The  old  woman's  hand  went  up.  There  was 
about  her  a  dignity  not  to  be  ignored.  "  I  think 
you  are  saying  more  than  you  mean,  Eve.  I  have 
tried  to  be  generous." 

They  were  much  alike  as  they  faced  each  other, 
the  same  clear  cold  eyes,  the  same  set  of  the  head, 

212 


MARRIAGE 

the  only  difference  Eve's  youth  and  slenderness  and 
radiant  beauty.  Perhaps  in  some  far  distant  past 
Aunt  Maude  had  been  like  Eve.  Perhaps  in  some 
far  distant  future  Eve's  soft  lines  would  stiffen  into  a 
second  edition  of  Aunt  Maude. 

"  I  have  tried  to  be  generous,"  Aunt  Maude  re- 
peated. 

"  You  have  been.  I  shouldn't  have  said  that. 
But,  Aunt  Maude,  it  hasn't  been  easy  to  eat  the 
bread  of  dependence." 

"You  are  feeling  that  now,"  said  the  old  lady 
shrewdly,  "  because  you  are  ready  for  the  great 
adventure  of  being  poor  with  your  young  Richard. 
Well,  try  it.  You'll  wish  more  than  once  that  you 
were  back  with  your  old — plum  tree." 

Flash  of  eye  met  flash  of  eye.  "  I  shall  never  ask 
for  another  penny,"  Eve  declared. 

"  I  shall  buy  your  trousseau,  of  course,  and  set 
you  up  in  housekeeping,  but  when  a  woman  is 
married  her  husband  must  take  care  of  her."  And 
Aunt  Maude  sailed  away  with  her  bag  and  her 
spectacles  and  her  morning  paper,  and  Eve  was  left 
alone  in  the  black  and  white  breakfast  room,  where 
Pats  slept  on  her  green  cushion,  the  Polly-parrot 
swung  in  her  ring,  and  the  flame-colored  fishes  hung 
motionless  in  the  clear  water. 

Eve  ate  no  breakfast.  She  sat  with  her  chin  in 
her  hand  and  tried  to  think  it  out.  Aunt  Maude  had 
not  proved  tractable,  and  Richard's  income  would 

213 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

be  small.  Never  having  known  poverty,  she  was 
not  appalled  by  the  prospect  of  it.  Her  imagina- 
tion cast  a  glamour  over  the  future.  She  saw  her- 
self making  a  home  for  Richard.  She  saw  herself 
inviting  Pip  and  Winifred  Ames  and  Tony  to  small 
suppers  and  perfectly  served  little  dinners.  She  did 
not  see  herself  washing  dishes  or  cooking  the  meals. 
Knowing  nothing  of  the  day's  work,  how  could  she 
conceive  its  sordidness  ? 

She  roused  herself  presently  to  go  and  write  notes 
to  her  friends.  Triumphant  notes  which  told  of  her 
happiness. 

Her  note  to  Pip  brought  him  that  night.  He 
came  in  white-faced.  As  she  went  toward  him,  he 
rose  to  meet  her  and  caught  her  hands  in  a  hard 
grip,  looking  down  at  her.  "You're  mine,  Eve. 
Do  you  think  I  am  going  to  let  any  one  else  have 
you?" 

"  Don't  be  silly,  Pip." 

"  Is  it  silly  to  say  that  there  will  never  be  for  me 
any  other  woman  ?  I  shall  love  you  until  I  die.  If 
that  is  foolishness,  I  never  want  to  be  wise." 

He  was  kissing  her  hands  now. 

"Don't,  Pip,  don't." 

She  wrenched  herself  away  from  him,  and  stood 
as  it  were  at  bay.  "  You'll  get  over  it." 

"  Shall  I  ?  How  little  you  know  me,  Eve.  I 
haven't  even  given  you  up.  If  I  were  a  story-book 
sort  of  hero  I'd  bestow  my  blessing  on  you  and 

214 


MARRIAGE 

Brooks  and  go  and  drive  an  ambulance  in  France, 
and  break  my  heart  at  long  distance.  But  I  shan't. 
I  shall  stay  right  here  on  the  job,  and  see  that 
Brooks  doesn't  get  you." 

"  Pip,  I  didn't  think  you  were  so — small." 

The  telephone  rang.  Eve  answered  it.  "  It  was 
Winifred  to  wish  me  happiness,"  she  said,  as  she 
came  in  from  the  hall. 

J5he  was  blushing  faintly.     He  gave  her  a  keen 
glance.     "  What  else  did  she  say  ?  " 

"  Nothing." 

"  You're  fibbing.     Tell  me  the  truth,  Eve." 

She  yielded  to  his  masterfulness. 

"  Well,  she  said—'  I  wanted  it  to  be  Pip.'  " 

"  Good  old  Win,  I'll  send  her  a  bunch  of  roses." 
He  wandered  restlessly  about  the  room,  then  came 
back  to  her.  "  Why,  Eve,  I  planned  the  house — our 
house.  It  was  to  have  the  sea  in  front  of  it  and  a 
forest  behind  it,  and  your  room  was  to  have  a  wide 
window  and  a  balcony,  and  under  the  balcony  there 
was  to  be  a  rose  garden." 

"  How  sure  you  were  of  me,  Pip." 

"  I  have  never  been  sure.  But  what  I  want,  I — 
get.  Remember  that,  dear  girl.  When  I  shut  my 
eyes  I  can  see  you  at  the  head  of  my  table,  in  a  high 
gold  chair — like  a  throne." 

She  stared  at  him  in  amazement.  "  Pip,  it 
doesn't  sound  a  bit  like  you." 

"  No.     What  a  man  thinks  is  apt  to  be — different. 
215 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

On  the  surface  I'm  a  rather  practical  sort  of  fellow. 
But  when  I  plan  my  future  with  you  I  am  playing 
king  to  your  queen,  and  I'm  not  half  bad  at  it." 

And  now  it  was  she  who  was  restless.  "  If  I  mar- 
ried you,  what  would  I  get  out  of  it  but — money  ?  " 

"  Thank  you." 

"  You  know  I  don't  mean  it  that  way.  But  I  like 
to  think  that  I  can  help  Richard — in  his  career." 

"You're  not  made  of  that  kind  of  stuff.  You 
want  your  own  good  time.  Women  who  help  men 
to  achieve  must  be  content  to  lose  their  looks  and 
their  figures  and  to  do  without  pretty  clothes,  and 
you  wouldn't  be  content.  You  want  to  live  your  own 
life,  and  be  admired  and  petted  and  envied,  Eve." 

She  faced  him,  blazing.  "  You  and  Aunt  Maude 
and  Win  are  all  alike.  You  think  I  can't  be  happy 
unless  I  live  in  the  lap  of  luxury.  Well,  I  can  tell 
you  this,  I'd  rather  have  a  crust  of  bread  with 
Richard  than  live  in  a  palace  with  you,  Pip." 

He  stood  up.  "You  don't  mean  it.  But  you 
needn't  have  put  it  quite  that  way,  and  some  day 
you'll  be  sorry,  and  you'll  tell  me  that  you're  sorry. 
Tell  me  now,  Eve." 

He  put  his  hands  on  her  shoulders,  holding  her 
with  a  masterful  grip.  Her  eyes  met  his  and  fell. 
"  Oh,  I  hate  your — sureness." 

"  Some  day  you  are  going  to  love  it.  Look  at 
me,  Eve." 

She  forced  herself  to  do  so.  But  she  was  not  at 
216 


MARRIAGE 

ease.     Then  almost  wistfully  she  yielded.     "  I — am 
sorry,  Pip." 

His  hands  dropped  from  her  shoulders.  "  Good 
little  girl." 

He  kissed  both  of  her  hands  before  he  went  away. 
"  I  am  glad  we  are  friends " — that  was  his  way  of 
putting  it — "  and  you  mustn't  forget  that  some  day 
we  are  going  to  be  more  than  that,"  and  when  he 
had  gone  she  found  herself  still  shaken  by  the  sure- 
ness  of  his  attitude. 

Pip  on  his  way  down-town  stopped  in  to  order 
Winifred's  roses,  and  the  next  day  he  went  to  her 
apartment  and  unburdened  his  heart. 

"  If  it  was  in  the  day  of  duels  I'd  call  him  out. 
Just  at  this  moment  I  am  in  the  mood  for  pistols  or 
poison,  I'm  not  sure  which." 

"  Why  not  try — patience  ?  " 

He  glanced  at  her  quickly.  "You  think  she'll 
tire  ?  " 

"I  think — it  can  never  happen.  For  Richard's 
sake  I — hope  not." 

"  Why  for  his  sake  ?  " 

Winifred  smiled.  "  I'd  like  to  see  him  marry 
little  Anne." 

"  The  school-teacher  ?  " 

"Yes.  Oh,  I  am  broken-hearted  to  think  he's 
spoiling  Nancy's  dreams  for  him.  There  was  some- 
thing so  idyllic  in  them.  And  now  he'll  marry  Eve." 

"  You  say  that  as  if  it  were  a  tragedy." 
217 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

"  It  is,  for  him  and  for  her.  Eve  was  never  made 
to  be  poor." 

"Don't  tell  her  that.  She  took  my  head  off. 
Said  she'd  rather  have  a  crust  of  bread  with  Rich- 
ard  " 

"  Oh,  oh  !  " 

"  Than  a  palace  with  me." 

"  Poor  Pip.     It  wasn't  nice  of  her." 

"  I  shall  make  her  eat  her  words." 

Winifred  shook  her  head.  "  Don't  be  hard  on 
her,  Pip.  We  women  are  so  helpless  in  our  loves. 
Richard  might  make  her  happy  if  he  cared  enough, 
but  he  doesn't.  Perhaps  Eve  will  be  broadened  and 
deepened  by  it  all.  I  don't  know.  No  one  knows." 

"  I  know  this.  That  you  and  Tony  seem  to  get  a 
lot  out  of  things,  Win." 

"Of  marriage?  We  do.  Yet  we've  had  all  of 
the  little  antagonisms  and  differences.  But  under- 
neath it  we  know — that  we're  made  for  each  other. 
And  that  helps.  It  has  helped  us  to  push  the  wrong 
things  out  of  our  lives  and  to  hold  on  to  the  right 
ones." 

Philip's  young  face  was  set.  "  I  wanted  to  have 
my  chance  with  Eve.  We  are  young  and  pretty 
light-weight  on  the  surface,  but  life  together  might 
make  us  a  bit  more  like  you  and  Tony.  And  now 
Richard  is  spoiling  things." 

Back  at  Crossroads,  Nancy  was  trying  to  convince 
her  son  that  he  was  not  spoiling  things  for  her.  "  I 

218 


I   SHALL   STAY — WITH   YOU 


MARRIAGE 

have  always  been  such  a  dreamer,  dear  boy.  It  was 
silly  for  me  to  think  that  I  could  stand  between  you 
and  your  big  future.  I  have  written  to  Sulie  Tyson, 
and  she'll  stay  with  me,  and  you  can  run  down  for 
week-ends — and  I'll  always  have  David." 

"  Mother,  let  me  go  to  Eve  and  tell  her " 

"  Tell  her  what  ?  " 

"  That  I  shall  stay— with  you." 

She  was  white  with  the  whiteness  which  had  never 
left  her  since  he  had  told  her  that  he  was  going  to 
marry  Eve. 

"  Hickory-Dickory,  if  I  kept  you  here  in  the  end 
you  would  hate  me." 

"Mother!" 

"Not  consciously.  But  I  should  be  a  barrier — 
and  you'd  find  yourself  wishing  for — freedom.  If  I 
let  you  go — you'll  come  back  now  and  then — and 
be— glad." 

He  gathered  her  up  in  his  arms  and  declared 
fiercely  that  he  would  not  leave  her,  but  she  stayed 
firm.  And  so  the  thing  was  settled,  and  as  soon  as 
he  could  settle  his  affairs  at  Crossroads  he  was  to  go 
to  Austin. 

Anne,  writing  to  Uncle  Rod  about  it,  said : 

"St.  Michael  is  to  marry  the  Lily-of-the-Field. 
You  see,  after  all,  he  likes  that  kind  of  thing,  though 
I  had  fancied  that  he  did  not.  She  is  not  as  fine 
and  simple  as  he  is,  and  somehow  I  can't  help  feel- 
ing sorry. 

219 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

"  But  that  isn't  the  worst  of  it,  Uncle  Bobs.  He 
is  going  back  to  New  York.  And  now  what  be- 
comes of  his  sunsets?  I  don't  believe  he  ever  had 
any.  And  oh,  his  poor  little  mother.  She  is  fooling 
him  and  making  him  think  that  it  is  just  as  it  should 
be  and  that  she  was  foolish  to  expect  anything  else. 
But  to  me  it  is  unspeakable  that  he  should  leave 
her.  But  he'll  have  Eve  Chesley.  Think  of  chang- 
ing Nancy  Brooks  for  Eve  1 " 

It  was  at  Beulah's  wedding  that  Anne  and  Richard 
saw  each  other  for  the  last  time  before  his  departure. 

Beulah  was  married  in  the  big  front  room  at 
Bower's.  She  was  married  at  six  o'clock  because  it 
was  easy  for  the  farmer  folk  to  come  at  that  time, 
and  because  the  evening  could  be  given  up  after- 
ward to  the  reception  and  a  big  supper  and  Beulah 
and  Eric  could  take  the  ten  o'clock  train  for  New 
York. 

She  had  no  bridesmaids  except  Peggy,  who  was 
quite  puffed  up  with  the  importance  of  her  office. 
Anne  had  instructed  her,  and  at  the  last  moment  held 
a  rehearsal  on  the  side  porch. 

"  Now,  play  I  am  the  bride,  Peggy." 

"You  look  like  a  bride,"  Peggy  said.  "Aren't 
you  ever  going  to  be  a  bride,  Miss  Anne?" 

"  I  am  not  sure,  Peggy.  Perhaps  no  one  will  ever 
ask  me." 

"  I'd  ask  you  if  I  were  a  man,"  Peggy  reassured 
her.  "  Now,  go  on  and  show  me,  Anne." 

220 


MARRIAGE 

11  You  must  take  Beulah's  bouquet  when  she  hands 
it  to  you,  and  after  she  is  married  you  must  give  it 
back  to  her,  and " 

"  And  then  I  must  kiss  her." 

"  You  must  let  Eric  kiss  her  first" 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  Because  he  will  be  her  husband." 

"  But  I've  been  her  sister  for  ever  and  ever." 

"  Oh,  but  a  husband,  Peggy.  Husbands  are  very 
important." 

"  Why  are  they  ?  " 

"  Well,  they  give  you  a  new  name  and  a  new 
house,  and  you  have  new  clothes  to  marry  them  in, 
and  you  go  away  with  them  on  a  honeymoon." 

"  What's  a  honeymoon  ?  " 

"  The  honey  is  for  the  sweetness,  and  the  moon  is 
for  the  madness,  Peggy,  dear." 

"  Do  people  always  go  away  on  trains  for  their 
honeymoons  ?  " 

"  Not  always.  I  shouldn't  like  a  train.  I  should 
like  to  get  into  a  boat  with  silver  sails,  and  sail 
straight  down  a  singing  river  into  the  heart  of  the 
sunset." 

"  Well,  of  course,  you  couldn't,"  said  the  plump 
and  practical  Peggy,  "  but  it  sounds  nice  to  say  it. 
Does  our  river  sing,  Miss  Anne  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  What  does  it  say  ?  " 

Anne  stretched  out  her  arms  with  a  little  yearning 
221 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

gesture.  "It  says — '  Come  and  see  the  world,  see 
the  world,  see  the  world  ! ' 

"  It  never  says  that  to  me." 

"  Perhaps  you  haven't  ears  to  hear,  Peggy." 

It  was  a  very  charming  wedding.  Richard  was 
there  and  Nancy,  and  David  and  Brinsley.  The 
country  folk  came  from  far  and  wide,  and  there  was 
a  brave  showing  of  Old  Gentlemen  from  Bower's  who 
brought  generous  gifts  for  Peter's  pretty  daughter. 

Richard,  standing  back  of  his  mother  during  the 
ceremony,  could  see  over  her  head  to  where  Anne 
waited  not  far  from  Peggy  to  prompt  her  in  her 
bridesmaid's  duties.  She  was  in  white.  Her  dark 
hair  was  swept  up  in  the  fashion  which  she  had  bor- 
rowed from  Eve.  She  seemed  very  small  and  slight 
against  the  background  of  Bower's  buxom  kinsfolk. 

As  he  caught  her  eye  he  smiled  at  her,  but  she  did 
not  smile  back.  She  felt  that  she  could  not.  How 
could  he  smile  with  that  little  mother  drooping  be- 
fore his  very  eyes  ?  How  could  he  ? 

She  found  herself  later,  when  the  refreshments 
were  served,  brooding  over  Nancy.  The  little  lady 
tasted  nothing,  but  was  not  permitted  to  refuse  the 
cup  of  tea  which  Anne  brought  to  her. 

"  I  had  it  made  especially  for  you,"  she  said  ; 
"  you  looked  so  tired." 

"  I  am  tired.  You  see  we  are  having  rather  stren- 
uous days." 

"  I  know." 

222 


MARRIAGE 

"  It  isn't  easy  to  let — him — go." 

"  It  isn't  easy  for  anybody  to  let  him  go." 

The  eyes  of  the  two  women  went  to  where  Rich- 
ard in  the  midst  of  a  protesting  group  was  trying  to 
explain  his  reasons  for  deserting  Crossroads. 

He  couldn't  explain.  They  had  a  feeling  that  he 
was  turning  his  back  on  them.  "  It's  hard  lines  to 
have  a  good  doctor  and  then  lose  him,"  was  the  gen- 
eral sentiment.  He  was  made  to  feel  that  it  would 
have  been  better  not  to  have  come  than  to  end  by 
deserting. 

He  was  aware  that  he  had  forfeited  something 
precious,  and  he  voiced  his  thought  when  'he  joined 
his  mother  and  Anne. 

"  I'll  never  have  a  practice  quite  like  this.  Neigh- 
borhood ties  are  something  they  know  little  about  in 
cities." 

His  mother  smiled  up  at  him  bravely.  "  There'll 
be  other  things." 

"  Perhaps  ;  "  he  patted  her  hand.  Then  he  fired  a 
question  at  Anne.  "  Do  you  think  I  ought  to  go  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  tell  ?  "  Her  eyes  met  his  candidly. 
"  I  felt  when  you  came  that  I  couldn't  understand 
how  a  man  could  bury  himself  here.  And  now  I  am 
wondering  how  you  can  leave.  It  seems  as  if  you 
belong." 

"  I  know  what  you  mean." 

She  went  on  :  "  And  I  can't  quite  think  of  this 
dear  lady  alone." 

223 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

Nancy  stopped  her.  "  Don't  speak  of  that,  my 
dear.  I  don't  want  you  to  speak  of  it.  It  is  right 
that  Richard  should  go." 

Anne  was  telling  herself  passionately  that  it  was 
not  right,  when  Beulah  sent  for  her,  and  presently 
the  little  bride  came  down  in  her  going-away  gown, 
to  be  joined  by  Eric  in  the  stiff  clothes  which  seemed 
to  rob  him  of  the  picturesqueness  which  belonged  to 
him  in  less  formal  moments. 

But  Richard  had  no  eyes  for  the  bride  and  groom  ; 
he  saw  only  Anne  at  the  head  of  the  stairway  where 
he  had  first  talked  to  her.  How  long  ago  it  seemed, 
and  how  sweet  she  had  been,  and  how  shy. 

The  train  was  on  the  bridge,  and  a  laughing 
crowd  hurried  out  into  the  night  to  meet  it.  Peggy 
in  the  lead  threw  roses  with  a  prodigal  hand.  "  Kiss 
me,  Beulah,"  she  begged  at  the  last. 

Beulah  bent  down  to  her,  then  was  lifted  in  Eric's 
strong  arms  to  the  platform.  Then  the  train  drew 
out  and  she  was  gone  I 

Alone  on  the  stairway,  Anne  and  Richard  had  a 
moment  before  the  crowd  swept  back  upon  them. 

"  Dr.  Brooks,  take  your  mother  with  you." 

"  She  won't  go." 

"  Then  stay  with  her." 

He  caught  at  the  edge  of  her  flowing  sleeve,  and 
held  it  as  if  he  would  anchor  her  to  him.  "  Do  you 
want  me  to  stay  ?  " 

Her  eyes  came  up  to  him.  She  saw  in  them  some- 
224 


MARRIAGE 

thing  which  lifted  her  above  and  beyond  her  doubts 
of  him.  She  had  an  ineffable  sense  of  having  found 
something  which  she  could  never  lose. 

Then  as  he  drew  back  he  was  stammering,  "  For- 
give me.  I  have  been  wanting  to  wish  you  happi- 
ness. Geoffrey  told  me " 

And  now  Peggy  bore  down  upon  them  and  all 
the  heedless  happy  crowd,  and  Richard  said,  "Good- 
night," and  was  gone. 

Yet  when  she  was  left  alone,  Anne  felt  desperately 
that  she  should  have  shouted  after  him,  "  I  am  not 
going  to  marry  Geoffrey  Fox.  I  am  not  going  to 
be  married  at  all." 


225 


CHAPTER  XV 
In  Which  Anne  Asks  and  Jimmie  Answers. 

MONEYLESS    man,' "   said     Uncle    Rod, 
"  '  goes  quickly  through  the  market.'  " 

He  had  a  basket  on  his  arm.  Anne,  who  was  at 
her  easel,  looked  up.  "  What  did  you  buy  ?  " 

He  laughed.  His  laugh  had  in  it  a  quality  of  youth 
which  seemed  to  contradict  the  signs  of  age  which 
were  upon  him.  Yet  even  these  signs  were  modified 
by  the  carefulness  of  his  attire  and  the  distinction 
of  his  carriage.  Great-uncle  Rodman  had  been  a 
dandy  in  his  day,  and  even  now  his  Norfolk  coat 
and  knickerbockers,  his  long  divided  beard  and 
flowing  tie  gave  him  an  air  half  foreign,  wholly  his 
own. 

In  his  basket  was  a  melon,  crusty  rolls,  peaches 
and  a  bottle  of  cream. 

".Such  extravagance  1 "  Anne  said,  as  he  showed 
her  the  bottle. 

"  It  was  the  price  of  two  chops.  And  not  a  lamb 
the  less  for  it.  Two  chops  would  have  been  an  ex- 
travagance, and  now  we  shall  feast  innocently  and 
economically." 

"  Where  shall  we  eat  ?  "  Anne  asked. 
226 


ANNE  ASKS 

"  Under  the  oak  ? " 

She  shook  her  head.     "  Too  sunny." 

''In  the  garden?" 

"Not  till  to-night — people  can  see  us  from  the 
road." 

"  You  choose  then."  It  was  a  game  that  they 
had  played  ever  since  she  had  come  to  him.  It 
gave  to  each  meal  the  atmosphere  of  an  adventure. 

"  I  choose,"  she  clapped  her  hands,  "  I  choose — 
by  the  fish-pond,  Uncle  Rod." 

The  fish-pond  was  at  the  end  of  the  garden  walk. 
Just  beyond  it  a  wooden  gate  connected  a  high 
brick  wall  and  opened  upon  an  acre  or  two  of  pas- 
ture where  certain  cows  browsed  luxuriously.  The 
brick  wall  and  the  cows  and  the  quiet  of  the  corner 
made  the  fish-pond  seem  miles  away  from  the  town 
street  which  was  faced  by  the  front  of  Cousin  Mar- 
garet's house. 

The  fish-pond  was  a  favorite  choice  in  the  game 
played  by  Anne  and  Uncle  Rod.  But  they  did  not 
always  choose  it  because  that  would  have  made  it 
commonplace  and  would  have  robbed  it  of  its 
charm. 

Anne,  rising  to  arrange  the  tray,  was  stopped  by 
Uncle  Rodman.  "  Sit  still,  my  dear  ;  I'll  get  things 
ready." 

To  see  him  at  his  housekeeping  was  a  pleasant 
sight.  He  liked  it,  and  gave  to  it  his  whole  mind. 
The  peeling  of  the  peaches  with  a  silver  knife,  the 

227 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

selection  of  a  bowl  of  old  English  ware  to  put  them 
in,  and  making  of  the  coffee  in  a  copper  machine, 
the  fresh  linen,  the  roses  as  a  last  perfect  touch. 

Anne  carried  the  tray,  for  his  weak  arm  could  not 
be  depended  upon ;  and  by  the  fish-pond  they  ate 
their  simple  meal. 

The  old  fishes  had  crumbs  and  came  to  the  top  of 
the  water  to  get  them,  and  a  cow  looking  over  the 
gate  was  rewarded  by  the  remaining  half  of  the 
crusty  roll.  She  walked  away  presently  to  give 
place  to  a  slender  youth  who  had  crossed  the  fields 
and  now  stood  with  his  hat  off  looking  in. 

"If  it  isn't  Anne,"  he  said,  "and  Uncle  Rod." 

Uncle  Rod  stood  up.  He  did  not  smile  and  he 
did  not  ask  the  slender  youth  to  enter.  But  Anne 
was  more  hospitable. 

"  Come  in,  Jimmie,"  she  said.  "  I  can't  offer  you 
any  lunch  because  we  have  eaten  it  all  up.  But 
there's  some  coffee." 

Jimmie  entered  with  alacrity.  He  had  come  back 
from  New  York  in  a  mood  of  great  discontent,  to 
meet  the  pleasant  news  that  Anne  Warfield  was  in 
town.  He  had  flown  at  once  to  find  her.  If  he  had 
expected  the  Fatted  Calf,  he  found  none.  Uncle 
Rodman  left  them  at  once.  He  had  a  certain 
amount  of  philosophy,  but  it  had  never  taught  him 
patience  with  Jimmie  Ford. 

Jimmie  drank  a  cup  of  coffee,  and  talked  of  his 
summer. 

228 


ANNE  ASKS 

"Saw  your  Dr.  Richard  in  New  York,  out  at 
Austin's." 

"  Yes." 

"  He's  going  to  marry  Eve." 

"Is  he?" 

"Yes.  I  don't  understand  what  she  sees  in  him 
— he  isn't  good  style." 

"He  doesn't  have  to  be." 

"Why  not?" 

"Men  like  Richard  Brooks  mean  more  to  the 
world  than  just — clothes,  Jimmie." 

"  I  don't  see  it." 

"  You  wouldn't." 

"  Why  shouldn't  I  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  look  so  nice  in  your  clothes — and  you 
need  them  to  look  nice  in." 

He  stared  at  her.  He  felt  dimly  that  she  was 
making  fun  of  him. 

"  From  the  way  you  put  it,"  he  said,  with  irrita- 
tion, "  from  the  way  you  put  it  any  one  might  think 
that  it  was  just  my  clothes " 

"That  make  you  attractive?  Oh,  no,  Jimmie. 
You  have  nice  eyes  and — and  a  way  with  you." 

She  was  sewing  on  a  scrap  of  fancy  work,  and 
her  own  eyes  were  on  it.  She  was  as  demure  as 
possible,  but  she  seemed  unusually  and  disconcert- 
ingly self-possessed. 

And  now  Jimmie  became  plaintive.  Plaintiveness 
had  always  been  his  strong  suit  with  Anne.  He 

229 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

was  eager  for  sympathy.  His  affair  with  Eve  had 
hurt  his  vanity. 

"  I  have  never  seen  a  girl  like  her.  She  doesn't 
care  what  the  world  thinks.  She  doesn't  care  what 
any  one  thinks.  She  goes  right  along  taking 
everything  that  comes  her  way — and  giving  noth- 
ing." 

"  Did  you  want  her  to  give  you — anything, 
Jimmie  ?" 

"Me?  Not  me.  She's  a  beauty  and  all  that. 
But  I  wouldn't  marry  her  if  she  were  as  rich  as 
Rockefeller — and  she  isn't.  Her  money  is  her  Aunt 
Maude's." 

"  Oh,  Jimmie — sour  grapes." 

"Sour  nothing.  She  isn't  my  kind.  She  said 
one  day  that  if  she  wanted  a  man  she'd  ask  him  to 
marry  her.  That  it  was  a  woman's  right  to  choose. 
I  can't  stand  that  sort  of  thing." 

"  But  if  she  should  ask  you,  Jimmie  ?" 

Again  he  stared  at  her.  "  I  jolly  well  shouldn't 
give  her  a  chance.  Not  after  the  way  she  treated 
me." 

"What  way?" 

"  Oh,  making  me  think  I  was  the  whole  thing — 
and  then — throwing  me  down." 

"  Oh,  so  you  don't  like  being  thrown  down  ?  " 

"  No.  I  don't  like  that  kind  of  a  woman.  You 
know  the  kind  of  woman  I  like,  Anne." 

The  caressing  note  in  his  voice  came  to  her  like 
230 


ANNE  ASKS 

an  echo  of  other  days.     But  now  it  had  no  power  to 
move  her. 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  I  do  know  the  kind  of  woman 
you  like — tell  me." 

"  Oh,  I  like  a  woman  that  is  a  woman,  and  makes 
a  man  feel  that  he's  the  whole  thing." 

"But  mustn't  he  be  the  whole  thing  to  make  her 
feel  that  he  is  ?  " 

He  flung  himself  out  of  his  chair  and  stood  before 
her.  "  Anne,"  he  demanded,  "  can't  you  do  any- 
thing but  ask  questions  ?  You  aren't  a  bit  like  you 
used  to  be." 

She  laid  down  her  work  and  now  he  could  see  her 
eyes.  Such  steady  eyes !  "  No,  I'm  not  like  my- 
self. You  see,  Jimmie,  I  have  been  away  for  a  year, 
and  one  learns  such  a  lot  in  a  year." 

He  felt  a  sudden  sense  of  loss.  There  had  always 
been  the  old  Anne  to  come  back  to.  The  Anne  who 
had  believed  and  had  sympathized.  Again  his  voice 
took  on  a  plaintive  note.  "  Be  good  to  me,  girl," 
he  said.  Then  very  low,  "  Anne,  I  was  half  afraid 
to  come  to-day." 

"  Afraid— why  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  you  think  I  acted  like  a — cad." 

"  What  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  Oh,  stop  asking  questions.  It  was  the  only 
thing  to  do.  You  were  poor  and  I  was  poor,  and 
there  wasn't  anything  ahead  of  me — or  of  you — 
surely  you  can't  blame  me." 

231 


MISTRESS  4NNE 

11  How  can  I  blame  you  for  what  was,  after  all,  my 
great  good  fortune  ?  " 

"  Your  what  ?  " 

She  said  it  again,  quietly,  "  My  great  good 
fortune,  Jimmie.  I  couldn't  see  it  then.  Indeed,  I 
was  very  unhappy  and  sentimental  and  cynical  over 
it.  But  now  I  know  what  life  can  hold  for  me — 
and  what  it  would  not  have  held  if  I  had  married 
you." 

"  Anne,  who  has  been  making  love  to  you  ?  " 

"Jimmie!" 

"  Oh,  no  woman  ever  talks  like  that  until  she  has 
found  somebody  else.  And  I  thought  you  were 
constant." 

"Constant  to  what?" 

"  To  the  thought — to — to  the  thought  of  what  we 
might  be  to  each  other  some  day." 

"  And  in  the  meantime  you  were  asking  Eve  to 
marry  you.  Was  it  her  money  that  you  wanted  ?  " 

"Her  money  1  Do  you  think  I  am  a  fortune- 
hunter?" 

"  I  am  asking  you,  Jimmie  ?  " 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  stop  asking  questions.  You 
know  how  a  pretty  woman  goes  to  my  head.  And 
she's  the  kind  that  flits  away  to  make  you  fol- 
low. I  can't  fancy  your  doing  that  sort  of  a  thing, 
Anne." 

"  No,"  quietly,  "  women  like  myself,  Jimmie,  go 
on  expecting  that  things  will  come  to  them — and 

232 


ANNE  ASKS 

when  they  don't  come,  we  keep  on — expecting.  But 
somehow  we  never  seem  to  be  able  to  reach  out  our 
hands  to  take — what  we  might  have." 

He  began  to  feel  better.  This  was  the  wistful 
Anne  of  the  old  days. 

"  There  has  never  been  any  one  like  you,  Anne. 
It  seems  good  to  be  here.  Women  like  Eve  madden 
a  man,  but  your  kind  are  so — comfortable." 

Always  the  old  Jimmie !  Wanting  his  ease  1 
After  he  had  left  her  she  sat  looking  out  over  the 
gate  beyond  the  fields  to  the  gold  of  the  west 

When  at  last  she  went  up  to  the  house  Uncle  Rod 
had  had  his  nap  and  was  in  his  big  chair  on  the  front 
porch. 

"Jimmie  and  I  are  friends  again,"  she  told  him. 

He  looked  at  her  inquiringly.     "  Real  friends?" 

"  Surface  friends.  He  is  coming  again  to  tell  me 
his  troubles  and  get  my  sympathy.  Uncle  Rod, 
what  makes  me  so  clear-eyed  all  of  a  sudden  ?  " 

He  smoothed  his  beard.  "  My  dear,  '  the  eyes  of 
the  hare  are  one  thing,  the  eyes  of  the  owl  another.' 
You  are  looking  at  life  from  a  different  point  of  view. 
I  knew  that  if  you  ever  met  a  real  man  you'd  know 
the  difference  between  him  and  Jimmie  Ford." 

She  came  over,  and  standing  behind  him,  put  her 
hands  on  his  shoulders.  "I've  found  him,  Uncle 
Rod." 

"St.  Michael?" 

"  Yes." 

233 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

"  Poor  little  girl." 

"  I  am  not  poor,  Uncle  Rod.  I  am  rich.  It  is 
enough  to  have  known  him." 

The  sunset  was  showing  above  the  wooden  gate. 
The  cows  had  gone  home.  The  old  fish  swam 
lazily  in  the  shadowed  water. 

Anne  drew  her  low  chair  to  the  old  man's  side. 
"  Uncle  Rod,  isn't  it  queer,  the  difference  between  the 
things  we  ask  for  and  the  things  we  get  ?  To  have 
a  dream  come  true  doesn't  mean  always  that  you 
must  get  what  you  want,  does  it  ?  For  sometimes 
you  get  something  that  is  more  wonderful  than  any 
dream.  And  now  if  you'll  listen,  and  not  look  at 
me,  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it,  you  darling  dear." 

It  was  in  late  August  that  Anne  received  the  first 
proof  sheets  of  Geoffrey's  book.  "  I  want  you  to 
read  it  before  any  one  else.  It  will  be  dedicated  to 
you  and  it  is  better  than  I  dared  believe — I  could 
never  have  written  it  without  your  help,  your  in- 
spiration." 

It  was  a  great  book.  Anne,  remembering  the 
moment  the  plot  had  been  conceived  on  that  quiet 
night  by  Peggy's  bedside  when  she  had  seen  the 
pussy  cat  and  had  heard  the  tinkling  bell,  laid  it 
down  with  a  feeling  almost  of  awe. 

She  wrote  Geoffrey  about  it.  It  was  her  first  real 
letter  to  him.  She  had  written  one  little  note  of  for- 
giveness and  of  friendliness,  but  she  had  felt  that  for 

234 


ANNE  ASKS 

a  time  at  least  she  should  do  no  more  than  that, 
and  Uncle  Rod  had  commended  her  resolution. 

"  Hot  fires  had  best  burn  out,"  he  said. 

"  If  you  never  do  anything  else,"  Anne  wrote  to 
Geoffrey,  "you  can  be  content.  There  isn't  aline 
of  pot-boiling  in  it.  It  is  as  if  you  had  dipped  your 
pen  in  magic  ink.  Rereading  it  to  Uncle  Rodman 
has  brought  back  the  nights  when  we  talked  it  over, 
and  I  can't  help  feeling  a  little  peacock-y  to  know 
that  I  had  a  part  in  it. 

"  And  now  I  am  going  to  tell  you  what  Uncle 
Rod's  comment  was  when  I  finished  the  very  last 
word.  He  sat  as  still  as  a  solemn  old  statue,  and 
then  he  said, '  Geoffrey  Fox  is  a  great  man.  No  one 
could  have  written  like  that  who  was  sordid  of  mind 
or  small  of  soul.' 

"  If  you  knew  my  Uncle  Rodman  you  would 
understand  all  that  his  opinion  stands  for.  He  is 
never  flattering,  but  he  has  had  much  time  to  think — 
he  is  like  one  of  the  old  prophets — so  that,  indeed,  I 
sometimes  feel  that  he  ought  to  sing  his  sentences 
like  David,  instead  of  saying  wise  things  in  an 
ordinary  way.  And  his  proverbs  !  he  has  such  a 
collection,  he  is  making  a  book  of  them,  and  he  digs 
into  old  volumes  in  all  sorts  of  languages — oh,  some 
day  you  must  know  him  ! 

"  I  am  going  back  to  Crossroads.  It  seems  that 
my  work  lies  there.  And  I  have  great  news  for  you. 
I  am  to  live  with  Mrs.  Brooks.  She  has  her  cousin, 

235 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

Sulie  Tyson,  with  her,  but  she  wants  me.  And  it 
will  be  so  much  better  than  Bower's. 

"  All  through  Mrs.  Nancy's  letters  I  can  read  her 
loneliness.  She  tries  to  keep  it  out.  But  she  can't. 
She  is  proud  of  her  son's  success — but  she  feels  the 
separation  intensely.  He  has  his  work,  she  only 
her  thoughts  of  him — and  that's  the  tragedy. 

"In  the  meantime,  here  we  are  at  Cousin  Mar- 
garet's doing  funny  little  stunts  in  the  way  of  cook- 
ing and  catering.  We  can't  afford  the  kind  of 
housekeeping  which  requires  servants,  so  it  is  a  case 
of  plain  living  and  high  thinking.  Uncle  Rod  hates 
to  eat  anything  that  has  been  killed,  and  makes  all 
sorts  of  excuses  not  to.  He  won't  call  himself  a 
vegetarian,  for  he  thinks  that  people  who  label 
themselves  are  apt  to  be  cranks.  So  he  does  our 
bit  of  marketing  and  comes  home  triumphant  with 
his  basket  innocent  of  birds  or  beasts,  and  we  live 
on  ambrosia  and  nectar  or  the  modern  equivalent. 
We  are  quite  classic  with  our  feasts  by  the  old  fish- 
pond at  the  end  of  the  garden. 

"Cousin  Margaret's  garden  is  flaming  in  the 
August  days  with  phlox,  and  is  fragrant  with  day 
lilies.  There's  a  grass  walk  and  a  sun-dial,  and  best 
of  all,  as  I  have  said,  the  fish-pond. 

"  And  while  I  am  on  the  subject  of  gardens,  Uncle 
Rod  rises  up  in  wrath  when  people  insist  upon  giv- 
ing the  botanical  names  to  all  of  our  lovely  blooms. 
He  says  that  the  pedants  are  taking  all  of  the  poetry 

236 


ANNE  ASKS 

out  of  language,  and  it  does  seem  so,  doesn't  it? 
Why  should  we  call  larkspur  Delphinium  ?  or  a  for- 
get-me-not Myostis  Palustriay  and  would  a  primrose 
by  the  river's  brim  ever  be  to  you  or  to  me  primula 
vulgaris  ?  Uncle  Rod  says  that  a  rose  by  any  other 
name  would  not  smell  as  sweet ;  and  it  is  fortunate 
that  the  worst  the  botanists  may  do  cannot  spoil  the 
generic — rosa. 

"  And  now  with  my  talk  of  Uncle  Rod  and  of  Me, 
I  am  stringing  this  letter  far  beyond  all  limits,  and 
yet  I  have  not  told  you  half  the  news. 

"  I  had  a  little  note  from  Beulah,  and  she  and 
Eric  are  at  home  in  the  Playhouse.  She  loves  your 
silver  candlesticks.  So  many  of  her  presents  were 
practical  and  she  prefers  the  '  pretties.' 

"You  have  heard,  of  course,  that  Dr.  Brooks  is  to 
marry  Eve  Chesley.  The  wedding  will  not  take 
place  for  some  time.  I  wonder  if  they  will  live  with 
Aunt  Maude.  I  can't  quite  imagine  Dr.  Richard's 
wings  clipped  to  such  a  cage." 

She  signed  herself,  "Always  your  friend,  Anne 
Warfield." 

Far  up  in  the  Northern  woods  Geoffrey  read  her 
letter.  He  could  use  his  eyes  a  little,  but  most  of 
the  time  he  lay  with  them  shut  and  Mimi  read  to 
him,  or  wrote  for  him  at  his  dictation.  He  had 
grown  to  be  very  dependent  on  Mimi ;  there  were 
even  times  when  he  had  waked  in  the  night,  groping 
and  calling  out,  and  she  had  gathered  him  in  her 

237 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

arms  and  had  held  him  against  her  breast  until  he 
stopped  shaking  and  shivering  and  saying  that  he 
could  not  see. 

He  spoke  her  name  now,  and  she  came  to  him. 
He  put  Anne's  letter  in  her  hand.  "  Read  it  1 "  and 
when  she  had  read,  he  said,  "  You  see  she  says  that 
I  am  great — and  she  used  to  say  it.  Am  I,  Mimi  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Geoffrey,  yes." 

"  I  want  you  to  make  it  true,  Mimi.  Shall  I  begin 
my  new  book  to-morrow  ?  " 

It  was  what  she  had  wanted,  what  she  had  begged 
that  he  would  do,  but  he  had  refused  to  listen.  And 
now  he  was  listening  to  another  voice ! 

She  brought  her  note-book,  and  sat  beside  him. 
Being  ignorant  of  shorthand  she  had  invented  a 
little  system  of  her  own,  and  she  was  glad  when  she 
could  make  him  laugh  over  her  funny  pot-hooks  and 
her  straggling  sketches. 

Thus  in  the  darkness  Geoffrey  struggled  and 
strove.  "Speaking  of  candlesticks,"  he  wrote  to 
Anne,  "  it  was  as  if  a  thousand  candles  lighted  my 
world  when  I  read  your  letter  1 " 


238 


CHAPTER  XVI 

In  Which  Pan  Pipes  to  the  Stars. 

THAT  Richard  in  New  York  should  miss  his 
mother  was  inevitable.  But  he  was  not  home- 
sick. He  was  too  busy  for  that.  Austin's  vogue 
was  tremendous. 

"  Every  successful  man  ought  to  be  two  men,"  he 
told  Richard,  as  they  talked  together  one  Sunday 
night  at  Austin's  place  in  Westchester,  " '  another 
and  himself,'  as  Browning  puts  it.  Then  there 
would  be  one  to  labor  and  the  other  to  enjoy.  I 
want  to  retire,  and  I  can't.  There's  a  selfish  instinct 
in  all  of  us  to  grip  and  hold.  That  is  why  I  am 
pinning  my  faith  to  you.  You  can  slip  in  as  I  slip 
out.  I  have  visions  of  riding  to  hounds  and  sailing 
the  seas  some  day,  to  say  nothing  of  putting  up  a 
good  game  of  golf.  But  perhaps  that's  a  dream.  A 
man  can't  get  away  from  his  work,  not  when  he 
loves  it." 

"  That's  why  you're  such  a  success,  sir,"  Richard 
told  him,  honestly ;  "  you  go  to  every  operation  as  if 
it  were  a  banquet." 

Austin  laughed.  "I'm  not  such  a  ghoul.  But 
there's  always  the  wonder  of  it  with  me.  I  some- 

239 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

times  wish  I  had  been  a  churchgoing  man,  Brooks 
There  isn't  much  more  for  me  to  learn  about  bodies, 
but  there's  much  about  souls.  I  have  a  feeling  that 
some  day  in  some  physical  experiment  I  shall  find 
tangible  evidence  of  the  spiritual.  That's  why  I  say 
my  prayers  to  Something  every  night,  and  I  rather 
think  It's  God." 

"  I  know  it's  God,"  said  Richard,  simply,  "  on 
such  a  night  as  this." 

They  were  silent  in  the  face  of  the  evening's 
beauty.  The  great  trees  on  the  old  estate  were 
black  against  a  silver  sky.  White  statues  shone 
like  pale  ghosts  among  them.  Back  of  Richard 
and  his  host,  in  a  semicircle  of  dark  cedars,  a  marble 
Pan  piped  to  the  stars. 

"And  in  the  cities  babies  are  sleeping  on  fire 
escapes,"  Austin  meditated.  "  If  I  had  had  a  son 
I  should  have  sent  him  to  the  slums  to  find  his 
work.  But  the  Fates  have  given  me  only  Marie- 
Louise." 

And  now  his  laugh  was  forced.  "  Brooks,  the 
Gods  have  checkmated  me.  Marie-Louise  is  the 
son  of  her  father.  I  had  planned  that  she  should  be 
the  daughter  of  her  mother.  I  sowed  some  rather 
wild  oats  in  my  youth,  and  waked  in  middle  age  to 
the  knowledge  that  my  materialism  had  led  me 
astray.  So  I  married  an  idealist.  I  wanted  my 
children  to  have  a  spiritual  background  of  character 
such  as  I  have  not  possessed.  And  the  result  of 

240 


PAN  PIPES 

that  marriage  is — Marie-Louise  !  If  she  has  a  soul 
it  is  yet  to  be  discovered." 

"  She  is  young.     Give  her  time." 

"  I  have  been  giving  her  time  for  eighteen  years. 
I  have  wanted  to  see  her  mother  in  her,  to  see  some 
gleam  of  that  exquisite  fineness.  There  are  things 
we  men,  the  most  material  of  us,  want  in  our 
women,  and  I  want  it  in  Marie-Louise.  But  she 
gives  back  what  I  have  given  her — nothing  more. 
And  I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  her." 

"  Her  mother  ?  "  Richard  hinted. 

"  Julie  is  worn  out  with  trying  to  meet  a  nature  so 
unlike  her  own.  Our  love  for  each  other  has  made 
us  understand.  But  neither  of  us  understands 
Marie-Louise.  I  sent  her  away  to  school,  but  she 
wouldn't  stay.  She  likes  her  home  and  she  hates 
rules.  She  loves  animals,  and  if  she  were  a  boy  she 
would  practice  medicine.  Being  a  woman  and  hav- 
ing no  outlet  for  her  energies,  she  is  freakish.  You 
saw  the  way  she  was  dressed  at  dinner." 

"  I  liked  it,"  Richard  said  ;  "  all  that  dead  silver 
with  her  red  hair." 

"  But  it  is  too — sophisticated,  for  a  young  girl. 
Why,  man,  she  ought  to  be  in  white  frocks  and 
pearls,  and  putting  cushions  behind  her  mother's 
back." 

"You  say  that  because  her  mother  wore  white  and 
pearls,  and  put  cushions  behind  her  mother's  back. 
There  aren't  many  of  the  white-frocks-and-pearls 

241 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

kind  left  It's  a  new  generation.  Perhaps  dead 
silver  with  red  hair  is  an  expression  of  it.  And  it  is 
we  who  don't  understand." 

"  Perhaps.  But  it's  a  problem."  Austin  rose.  *'  If 
you'll  excuse  me,  Brooks,  I'll  go  to  my  wife.  We 
always  read  together  on  Sunday  nights." 

He  sent  Marie-Louise  out  to  Richard.  She  came 
through  the  starlight,  a  shining  figure  in  her  silver 
dress,  with  a  silver  Persian  kitten  hugged  up  in  her 
arms.  She  sat  on  the  sun-dial  and  swung  her  jade 
bracelet  for  the  kitten  to  play  with. 

"  Dad  and  mother  are  reading  the  Bible.  He 
doesn't  believe  in  it,  and  she  gets  him  to  listen  once 
a  week.  And  then  she  reads  the  prayers  for  the 
day.  When  I  was  a  little  girl  I  had  to  listen — but 
never  again  I " 

"Why  not?" 

"  Why  should  I  listen  to  things  that  I  don't  be- 
lieve? To-night  it  is  the  ten  virgins  and  their 
lamps.  And  Dad's  pretending  that  he's  interested. 
I  am  writing  a  play  about  it,  but  mother  doesn't 
know.  The  Wise  Virgins  are  Bernard  Shaw  women 
who  know  what  they  want  in  the  way  of  husbands 
and  go  to  it.  The  Foolish  Virgins  are  the  old 
maids,  who  think  it  unwomanly  to  get  ready,  and 
find  themselves  left  in  the  end  1 " 

The  silver  kitten  clawed  at  the  silver  dress,  and 
climbed  on  her  mistress's  shoulder. 

"  All  of  the  parables  make  good  modern  plots. 
242 


PAN  PIPES 

Mother  would  be  shocked  if  she  knew  I  was  writing 
them  that  way.  So  I  don't  tell  her.  Mother  is  a 
dear,  but  she  doesn't  understand.  I  should  like  to 
tell  things  to  Dad,  but  he  won't  listen.  If  I  were  a 
boy  he  would  listen.  But  he  thinks  I  ought  to  be 
like  mother." 

She  slipped  from  the  sun-dial  and  came  and  sat 
in  the  chair  which  her  father  had  vacated.  "  If  I 
were  a  boy  I  should  have  studied  medicine.  I 
wanted  to  be  a  trained  nurse,  but  Dad  wouldn't  let 
me.  He  said  I'd  hate  having  to  do  the  hard  work, 
and  perhaps  I  should.  I  like  to  wear  pretty  clothes, 
and  a  nurse  never  has  a  chance." 

"  Perhaps  you'll  marry." 

"  Oh,  no.     I  should  hate  to  be  like  mother." 

"Why?" 

"  She  just  lives  for  Dad.  Now  I  couldn't  do  that. 
I  am  not  going  to  marry.  I  don't  like  men.  They 
ask  too  much.  I  like  books  and  cats  and  being  by 
myself.  I  am  never  lonesome.  Sometimes  I  talk 
to  Pan  over  there,  and  pretend  he  is  playing  to  me 
on  his  pipes,  and  then  I  write  poetry.  Real  poetry. 
I'll  read  it  to  you  some  time.  There's  one  called 
'  The  Rose  Garden.'  I  wrote  it  about  a  woman  who 
was  a  patient  of  father's.  When  she  knew  she 
was  going  to  die  she  wrote  him  a  little  note  and 
asked  him  to  see  that  her  body  was  cremated,  and 
that  the  ashes  were  strewn  over  the  roses  in  his 
garden.  He  didn't  seem  to  see  anything  in  it  but 

243 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

just  a  sick  woman's  fancy.  But  I  knew  that  she 
was  in  love  with  him.  And  my  poem  tells  that 
her  blessed  dust  gathered  itself  into  a  gentle  wraith 
which  lives  and  breathes  near  him." 

"  And  you  aren't  afraid  to  feel  that  her  gentle 
wraith  is  here  in  the  garden  ?  " 

"  Why  should  I  be  ?  I  don't  believe  in  ghosts, 
I  don't  believe  in  fairies,  either,  or  Santa  Claus. 
But  I  like  to  read  about  them  and  write  about  them, 
and — and  wish  that  it  might  be  so." 

There  was  something  almost  wistful  in  her  voice. 
Richard,  aware  suddenly  of  what  a  child  she  was, 
bent  forward. 

"  I  think  I  half  believe  in  fairies,  and  Christmas 
wouldn't  be  anything  without  Santa  Claus,  and  as 
for  the  soul  of  your  gentle  lady,  I  have  a  feeling 
that  it  is  finding  Heaven  in  the  rose  garden." 

She  was  stroking  the  silver  kitten  which  had 
curled  up  in  her  lap.  "  I  wish  I  weren't  such  a — 
heathen,"  she  said,  suddenly.  "  I  know  what  you 
mean.  But  it  is  only  the  poetic  sense  in  me  that 
makes  me  know.  I  can't  believe  anything.  Not 
about  souls — or  prayers.  Do  you  ever  pray  ?  " 

"  Every  night.     On  my  knees." 

"  On  your  knees  ?     Oh,  is  it  as  bad  as  that  ?  " 

Richard,  writing  to  his  mother,  said  of  Marie- 
Louise,  "  Her  mind  isn't  in  a  healthy  state.  It 
hasn't  anything  to  feed  on.  Her  father  is  too  busy 

244 


PAN  PIPES 

and  her  mother  too  ill  to  realize  that  she  needs  com- 
panionship of  a  certain  kind.  I  wish  she  might  have 
been  a  pupil  at  the  Crossroads  school,  with  Anne 
Warfield  for  her  teacher.  But  no  hope  of  that" 

He  wrote,  too,  of  his  rushing  days,  and  Nancy, 
answering,  hid  from  him  the  utter  hopelessness  of 
her  outlook.  Her  life  began  and  ended  with  his 
letters  and  the  week-ends  which  he  was  able  to  give 
her.  But  some  of  his  week-ends  had  to  be  spent 
with  Eve  ;  a  man  cannot  completely  ignore  the  fact 
that  he  has  a  fiancee,  and  Richard  would  have  been 
less  than  human  if  he  had  not  responded  to  the 
appeal  of  youth  and  beauty.  So  he  motored  with 
Eve  and  danced  with  Eve,  and  dtd  all  of  the  de- 
lightful summer  things  which  are  possible  in  the 
big  city  near  the  sea.  Aunt  Maude  went  to  the 
North  Shore,  but  Eve  stayed  with  Winifred,  and 
wove  about  Richard  her  spells  of  flattery  and  of 
frivolity. 

"I  want  to  be  near  you,  Dicky  boy.  If  I'm  not 
you'll  work  too  hard." 

"  It  is  work  that  I  like." 

"  I  believe  that  you  like  it  better  than  you  do  me, 
Dicky." 

"  Don't  be  silly,  Eve." 

"  You  are  always  saying  that.  Do  you  like  your 
work  better  than  you  do  me,  Dicky  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not."  But  he  had  no  pretty  things  to 
say. 

245 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

The  life  that  he  lived  with  her,  however,  and  with 
Pip  and  Winifred  and  Tony  was  a  heady  wine 
which  swept  away  regrets.  He  had  no  time  to 
think.  He  worked  by  day  and  played  by  night,  and 
often  after  their  play  there  was  work  again.  Now 
and  ;then,  as  the  Sunday  night  when  he  had  first 
met  Marie-Louise,  he  motored  with  Austin  out  to 
Westchester.  Mrs.  Austin  spent  her  summers  there. 
Long  journeys  tired  her,  and  she  would  not  leave 
her  husband.  Marie- Louise  stayed  at  "  Rose  Acres  " 
because  she  hated  big  hotels,  and  found  cottage 
colonies  stupid.  The  great  gardens  swept  down  to 
the  river — the  wide,  blue  river  with  the  high  bluffs 
on  the  sunset  side. 

The  river  at  Bower's  was  not  blue ;  it  showed  in 
the  spring  the  red  of  the  clay  which  was  washed 
into  it,  and  now  and  then  a  clear  green  when  the 
rains  held  off,  but  it  was  rarely  blue  except  on  cer- 
tain sapphire  days  in  the  fall,  when  a  northwest  wind 
swept  all  clouds  from  the  sky. 

And  this  was  not  a  singing  river.  It  was  too 
near  the  sea,  and  too  full  of  boats,  and  there  was  no 
reason  why  it  should  say,  "  Come  and  see — come  and 
see — the  world"  when  the  world  was  at  its  feet ! 

And  so  the  great  Hudson  had  no  song  for  Rich- 
ard. Yet  now  and  then,  as  he  walked  down  to  it 
in  the  warm  darkness,  his  ears  seemed  to  catch  a 
faint  echo  of  the  harmonies  which  had  rilled  his  soul 
on  the  day  that  Anne  Warfield  had  dried  her  hair 

246 


PAN  PIPES 

on  the  bank  of  the  old  river  at  Bower's,  and  had 
walked  with  him  in  the  wood. 

Except  at  such  moments,  however,  it  must  be  con- 
fessed that  he  thought  little  of  Anne  Warfield.  It 
hurt  to  think  of  her.  And  he  was  too  much  of  a 
surgeon  to  want  to  turn  the  knife  in  the  wound. 

Marie- Louise,  developing  a  keen  interest  in  his 
affairs  as  they  grew  better  acquainted,  questioned 
him  about  Evelyn. 

"  Dad  says  you  are  going  to  marry  her." 

"Yes." 

"  Is  she  pretty  ?  " 

41  Rather  more  than  that." 

14  Why  don't  you  bring  her  out  ?  " 

44  Nobody  asked  me,  sir,  she  said." 

She  flashed  a  smile  at  him. 

44 1  like  your  nursery-rhyme  way  of  talking.  You 
are  the  humanest  thing  that  we  have  ever  had  in 
this  house.  Mother  is  a  harp  of  a  thousand  strings, 
and  Dad  is  a  dynamo.  But  you  are  flesh  and 
blood." 

44  Thank  you." 

44 1  wish  you'd  ask  your  Evelyn  out  here,  and  her 
friends.  For  tea  and  tennis  some  Saturday  after- 
noon. I  want  to  see  you  together." 

But  after  she  had  seen  them  together,  she  said, 
shrewdly,  44  You  are  not  in  love  with  her." 

44  I  am  going  to  marry  her,  child.  Isn't  that  proof 
enough?" 

247 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

"  It  isn't  any  proof  at  all.  The  big  man  is  the  one 
who  really  cares." 

"  The  big  man  ?     Pip  ?  " 

"Is  that  what  you  call  him?  He  looks  at  her  like 
a  dog  waiting  for  a  bone.  And  he  brightens  when 
she  speaks  to  him.  And  her  eyes  are  always  on  you 
and  yours  are  never  on  her." 

"  Marie-Louise,  you  are  an  uncanny  creature. 
Like  your  little  silver  cat.  She  watches  mice  and 
you  watch  me.  I  have  a  feeling  that  you  are  going 
to  pounce  on  me." 

"  Some  day  I  shall  pounce,"  she  poked  her  finger 
at  him,  "  and  shake  you  as  my  little  cat  shakes  a 
mouse,  and  you'll  wake  up." 

"Am  I  asleep,  Marie-Louise?" 

"  Yes.  You  haven't  heard  Pan  pipe."  She  was 
leaning  on  the  sun-dial  and  looking  up  at  the  grinning 
god.  "  Men  who  live  in  cities  have  no  ears  to  hear." 

"  Are  you  a  thousand  years  old,  Marie- Louise  ?  " 

"  I  am  as  old  as  the  centuries,"  she  told  him 
gravely.  "  I  played  with  Pan  when  the  world  was 
young." 

They  smiled  at  each  other,  and  then  he  said,  "  My 
mother  wants  me  to  live  in  the  country.  Do  you 
think  if  I  were  there  I  should  hear  Pan  pipe  ?  " 

"  Not  if  you  were  there  because  your  mother  wished 
it.  It  is  only  when  you  love  it  yourself  that  the  river 
calls  and  you  hear  the  fluting  of  the  wind  in  the 
rushes." 

248 


PAN  PIPES 

It  was  an  August  Saturday,  hot  and  humid. 
Marie-Louise  was  in  thin  white,  but  it  was  a  white 
with  a  difference  from  the  demure  summer  frocks  of 
a  former  generation.  The  modern  note  was  in  the 
white  fur  which  came  high  up  about  Marie-Louise's 
throat.  Yet  she  did  not  look  warm.  Her  skin  was 
as  pale  as  the  pearls  in  her  ears.  Her  red  hair 
flamed,  but  without  warmth  ;  it  rippled  back  from 
her  forehead  to  a  cool  and  classic  coil. 

"  If  you  marry  your  Eve,"  she  told  Richard,  "  and 
stay  with  father,  you'll  grow  rich  and  fat,  and  forget 
the  state  of  your  soul." 

"  I  thought  you  didn't  believe  in  souls." 

She  flushed  faintly.  "  I  believe  in  yours.  But 
your  Eve  doesn't.  She  likes  you  because  you  don't 
care,  and  everybody  else  does.  And  that  isn't  love." 

"What  is  love?" 

She  pondered.  "  I  don't  know.  I've  never  felt 
it.  And  I  don't  want  to  feel  it.  If  I  loved  too  much 
I  should  die — and  if  I  didn't  love  enough  I  should 
be  ashamed." 

"  You  are  a  queer  child,  Marie-Louise." 

"  I  am  not  a  child.  Dad  thinks  I  am,  and  mother. 
But  they  don't  know." 

There  were  day  lilies  growing  about  the  sun-dial. 

-She  gathered  a  handful  of    white  blooms  and  laid 

them  at  the  feet  of  the  piping  Pan.     "  I  shall  write  a 

poem  about  it,"  she  said,   "  of  a  girl  who  loved  a 

marble  god,  and  who  found  it — enough.     Every  day 

249 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

she  laid  a  flower  at  his  feet.  And  a  human  came  to 
woo  her,  and  she  told  him,  '  If  I  loved  you,  you 
would  ask  more  of  me  than  my  marble  lover.  He 
asks  only  that  I  lay  flowers  at  his  feet.' ' 

He  could  never  be  sure  whether  she  was  in  jest  or 
earnest.  And  now  she  narrowed  her  eyes  in  a  quiz- 
zical smile  and  was  gone. 

He  spoke  of  Marie-Louise  to  Eve.  "  She  hasn't 
enough  to  do.  She  ought  to  be  busy  with  her  fancy 
work  and  her  household  matters." 

"  No  woman  is  busy  with  household  matters  in 
this  age,  Dicky.  Nor  with  fancy  work.  Is  that 
what  you  expect  of  a  wife  ?  " 

He  didn't  know  what  he  expected,  and  he  told  her 
so.  But  he  knew  he  was  expecting  more  than  she 
was  prepared  to  give.  Eve  had  an  off-with-the-old- 
and-on-with-the-new  theory  of  living  which  left  him 
breathless.  She  expressed  it  one  night  when  she 
said  that  she  shouldn't  have  "  obey  "  in  her  marriage 
service.  "  I  never  expect  to  mind  you,  Dicky,  so 
what's  the  use  ?  " 

There  was  no  use,  of  course.  Yet  he  had  a  feeling 
that  he  was  being  robbed  of  something  sweet  and 
sacred.  The  quaint  old  service  asked  things  of  men  as 
well  as  of  women.  Good  and  loving  and  fine  things. 
He  was  old-fashioned  enough  to  want  to  promise  all 
that  it  asked,  and  to  have  his  wife  promise. 

Eve  laughed,  too,  at  Richard's  grace  before  meat. 
"  You  mustn't  embarrass  me  at  formal  dinners, 

250 


PAN  PIPES 

Dicky.  Somehow  it  won't  seem  quite  in  keeping 
with  the  cocktails,  will  it  ?  " 

Thus  the  spirit  of  Eve,  contending  with  all  that 
made  him  the  son  of  his  mother,  meeting  his 
spiritual  revolts  with  material  arguments,  banking 
the  fires  of  his  flaming  aspirations  ! 

Yet  he  rarely  let  himself  dwell  upon  this  aspect 
of  it.  He  had  set  his  feet  in  a  certain  path,  and  he 
was  prepared  to  follow  it. 

On  this  path,  at  every  turning,  he  met  Philip. 
The  big  man  had  not  been  driven  from  the  field  by 
the  fact  of  Eve's  engagement.  He  still  asked  her  to 
go  with  him,  he  still  planned  pleasures  for  her.  His 
money  made  things  easy,  and  while  he  included 
Richard  in  most  of  his  plans,  he  looked  upon  him  as 
a  necessary  evil.  Eve  refused  to  go  without  her 
young  doctor. 

Now  and  then,  however,  he  had  her  alone. 
"  Dicky's  called  to  an  appendicitis  case,"  she  in- 
formed him  ruefully,  one  night  over  the  telephone, 
"and  I  am  dead  lonesome.  Come  and  cheer  me 
up." 

He  went  to  her,  and  during  the  evening  proposed 
a  week-end  yachting  trip  which  should  take  them  to 
the  North  Shore  and  Aunt  Maude. 

"  Is  Dicky  invited  ?  " 

41  Of  course.     But  I'm  not  sure  that  I  want  him." 

"  He  wouldn't  come  if  he  knew  that  you  felt  like 
that." 

251 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

"  It  isn't  anything  personal.  And  you  know  my 
manner  is  perfect  when  I'm  with  him." 

"Yes.  Poor  Dicky.  Pip,  we  are  a  pair  of  de- 
ceivers. I  sometimes  think  I  ought  to  tell  him." 

"  There's  nothing  to  tell." 

"  Nothing  tangible, — but  he's  so  straightforward. 
And  he'd  hate  the  idea  that  I'm  letting  you — make 
love  to  me." 

"  I  don't  make  love.  I  have  never  touched  the 
tip  of  your  finger." 

"  Pip  !  Of  course  not.  But  your  eyes  make  love, 
and  your  manner — and  deep  down  in  my  heart  I  am 
afraid." 

"Afraid  of  what?" 

"That  Fate  isn't  going  to  give  me  what  I  want. 
I  don't  want  you,  Pip.  I  want  Dicky.  And  if  you 
loved  me — you'd  let  me  alone." 

"  Tell  me  to  go, — and  I  won't  come  back." 

"  Not  ever  ?  " 

"  Never." 

She  weakened.  "  But  I  don't  want  you  to  go 
away.  You  see,  you  are  my  good  friend,  Pip." 

She  should  not  have  let  him  stay.  She  knew 
that.  She  found  it  necessary  to  apologize  to  Rich- 
ard. "  You  see,  Pip  cares  an  awful  lot" 

Richard  had  little  sympathy.  "  He  might  as  well 
take  his  medicine  and  not  hang  around  you,  Eve." 

"  If  you  would  hang  around  a  little  more  perhaps 
he  wouldn't." 

252 


PAN  PIPES 

"  I  am  very  busy.     You  know  that." 

His  voice  was  stern.  "  If  I  am  a  busy  husband, 
will  you  make  that  an  excuse  for  having  Pip  at 
your  heels  ?  " 

"  Richard." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  shouldn't  have  said  that 
But  marriage  to  me  means  more  than  good  times. 
Life  means  more  than  good  times.  When  I  am  here 
in  New  York  it  seems  to  me  sometimes  that  I  am 
drugged  by  work  and  pleasure.  That  there  isn't  a 
moment  in  which  to  live  in  a  leisurely  thoughtful 
sense." 

"  You  should  have  stayed  at  Crossroads." 

"I  can't  go  back.  I  have  burned  my  bridges. 
Austin  expects  things  of  me,  and  I  must  live  up  to 
his  expectations.  And,  besides,  I  like  it." 

"  Really,  Dicky  ?  " 

"  Really.  There's  a  stimulus  about  the  rush  of  it 
and  the  big  things  we  are  doing.  Austin  is  a  giant. 
My  association  with  him  is  the  biggest  thing  that 
has  ever  come  into  my  life." 

"  Bigger  than  your  love  for  me  ?  " 

Thus  she  brought  him  back  to  it.  Making  always 
demands  upon  him  which  he  could  not  meet.  He 
found  himself  harassed  by  her  continued  harping  on 
the  personal  point  of  view,  yet  there  were  moments 
when  she  swung  him  into  step  with  her.  And  one 
of  the  moments  came  when  she  spoke  of  the  yachting 
trip.  It  was  very  hot,  and  Richard  loved  the  sea. 

253 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

"  Dicky,  I'll  keep  Pip  in  the  background  if  you'll 
promise  to  come." 

"  How  can  you  keep  him  in  the  background  when 
he  is  our  host  ?  " 

"  He  is  going  to  invite  Marie-Louise.  And  he'll 

have  to  be  nice  to  her.  And  you  and  I ! 

Dicky,  we'll  feel  the  slap  of  the  breeze  in  our  faces, 
and  forget  that  there's  a  big  city  back  of  us  with 
sick  people  in  it,  and  slums  and  hot  nights.  Dicky 
— I  love  you — and  I  am  going  to  be  your  wife. 
Won't  you  come — because  I  want  you — Dicky  ?  " 

There  were  tears  on  her  cheeks  as  she  made  her 
plea,  and  he  was  always  moved  by  her  tears.  It 
was  his  protective  sense  that  had  first  tied  him  to 
her ;  it  was  still  through  his  chivalry  that  she  made 
her  most  potent  appeal. 

Marie-Louise  was  glad  to  go.  "  It  will  be  like 
watching  a  play." 

She  and  Richard  were  waiting  for  Pip's  "  Mer- 
maid "  to  make  a  landing  at  the  pier  at  Rose  Acres. 
A  man-servant  with  their  bags  stood  near,  and 
Marie-Louise's  maid  was  coated  and  hatted  to  ac- 
company her  mistress.  "  It  will  be  like  watching  a 
play,"  Marie- Louise  repeated.  "The  eternal  trio. 
Two  men  and  a  girl." 

She  waved  to  the  quartette  on  the  forward  deck. 
"Your  big  man  looks  fine  in  his  yachting  things. 
And  your  Eve  is  nice  in  white." 

Marie-Louise  was  not  in  white.     In  spite  of  the 

254 


PAN  PIPES 

heat  she  was  wrapped  to  the  ears  in  a  great  coat  of 
pale  buff.  On  her  head  was  a  Chinese  hat  of  yellow 
straw,  with  a  peacock's  feather.  Yet  in  spite  of  the 
blueness  and  yellowness,  and  the  redness  of  her 
head,  she  preserved  that  air  of  amazing  coolness, 
as  if  her  blood  were  mixed  with  snow  and  ran 
slowly. 

Arriving  on  deck,  she  gave  Pip  her  hand.  "  I  am 
glad  it  is  clear.  I  hate  storms.  I  am  going  to  ask 
Dr.  Brooks  to  pray  that  it  won't  be  rough.  He  is  a 
good  man,  and  the  gods  should  listen." 


255 


CHAPTER  XVII 

In  Which  Fear  Walks  in  a  Storm. 

THE  "  Mermaid,"  having  swept  like  a  bird  out 
of  the  harbor,  stopped  at  Coney  Island.    Marie- 
Louise  wanted  her  fortune  told.     Eve  wanted  pea- 
nuts and  pop-corn.     "  It  will  make  me  seem  a  little 
girl  again." 

Marie-Louise,  cool  in  her  buff  coat,  shrugged  her 
shoulders.  "  I  was  never  allowed  to  be  that  kind  of 
a  little  girl,"  she  said,  "  but  I  think  I'd  like  to  try  it 
for  a  day." 

Eve  and  Marie-Louise  got  on  very  well  together. 
They  spoke  the  same  language.  And  if  Marie- 
Louise  was  more  artificial  in  some  ways,  she  was 
more  open  than  Eve. 

"  You'd  better  tell  Dr.  Brooks,"  she  told  the  older 
girl,  as  the  two  of  them  walked  ahead  of  Richard 
and  Pip  on  the  pier.  Tony  and  Winifred  had  elected 
to  stay  on  board. 

"Tell  him  what?" 

"  That  you  are  keeping  the  big  man  in  reserve. 

Eve  flushed.     "  Marie-Louise,  you're  horrid." 

"  I  am  honest,"  was  the  calm  response. 
256 


FEAR  WALKS  IN  A  STORM 

Pip  bought  them  unlimited  peanuts  and  pop-corn, 
and  Marie-Louise  piloted  them  to  the  tent  of  a  fat 
Armenian  who  told  fortunes. 

In  spite  of  his  fatness,  however,  he  was  immacu- 
late in  European  clothing ;  he  charged  exorbitantly 
and  achieved  extraordinary  results. 

"  He  said  the  last  time  that  I  should  marry  a  poet," 
Marie-Louise  informed  them,  "  which  isn't  true.  I 
am  not  going  to  be  married  at  all.  But  it  amuses 
me  to  hear  him." 

The  black  eyes  of  the  fat  Armenian  twinkled. 
"  There  will  be  a  time  when  you  will  not  be  amused. 
You  will  be  married." 

He  pulled  out  a  chair  for  her.  "  Will  your  friends 
stay  while  I  tell  you  the  rest  ?  " 

"  No,  they  are  children  ;  they  want  to  buy  peanuts 
and  pop-corn — they  want  to  play." 

The  others  laughed.  But  the  fat  Armenian  did 
not  laugh.  "  Your  soul  is  old  1 " 

"  You  see,"  she  asked  the  others,  "  what  I  mean  ? 
He  says  things  like  that  to  me.  He  told  me  once 
that  in  a  former  incarnation  I  had  walked  beside  the 
Nile  and  had  loved  a  king." 

"  A  king-poet,"  the  man  corrected. 

"  Will  you  tell  mine  ?  "  Eve  asked  suddenly. 

"  Certainly,  madam." 

"  I  am  mademoiselle.    You  go  first,  Marie-Louise." 

But  Marie-Louise  insisted  on  yielding  to  her 
"  We  will  come  back  for  you." 

257 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

Coming  back,  they  found  Eve  in  an  irritable  tem- 
per. "  He  told  me — nothing." 

"  I  told  you  what  you  did  not  want  to  hear.  But 
I  told  you  the  truth." 

"  I  don't  believe  in  such  things."  Eve  was  lofty. 
Her  cold  eyes  challenged  the  Oriental.  "  I  don't 
believe  you  know  anything  about  it." 

"If   Mademoiselle  will  write  it  down "     He 

was  fat  and  puffy,  but  he  had  a  sort  of  large  dignity 
which  ignored  her  rudeness.  "  If  Mademoiselle  will 
write  it  down,  she  will  not  say — next  year — '  I  do 
not  believe.'  " 

She  shivered.  "I  wish  I  hadn't  come.  Dicky 
boy,  let's  go  and  play.  Pip  and  Marie-Louise  can 
stay  if  they  like  it.  I  don't." 

When  Marie-Louise  had  had  her  imagination  once 
more  fed  on  poets,  kings,  and  previous  incarnations, 
she  and  Pip  went  forth  to  seek  the  others. 

"I  wonder  what  he  told  Eve?"  Pip  speculated. 

Marie-Louise  spoke  with  shrewdness.  "  He  prob- 
ably told  her  that  she  would  marry  you — only  he 
wouldn't  put  it  that  way.  He  would  say  that  in 
reaching  for  a  star  she  would  stumble  on  a  dia- 
mond." 

"  And  is  Brooks  the  star  ?  " 

She  nodded,  grinning.  "  And  you  are  the  dia- 
mond. It  is  what  she  wants — diamonds." 

"She  wants  more  than  that" — tenderness  crept 
into  his  voice — "  she  wants  love — and  I  can  give  it.' 

258 


FEAR  WALKS  IN  A  STORM 

"  She  wants  Dr.  Brooks.  'Most  any  woman 
would,"  said  Marie- Louise  cruelly.  "  We  all  know 
he  is  different  You  know  it,  and  I  know  it,  and 
Eve  knows  it.  He  is  bigger  in  some  ways,  and 
better  1 " 

They  found  Eve  and  Richard  in  a  pavilion  dancing 
in  strange  company,  to  raucous  music.  Later  the 
four  of  them  rode  on  a  merry-go-round,  with  Marie- 
Louise  on  a  dolphin  and  Eve  on  a  swan,  with  the 
two  men  mounted  on  twin  dragons.  They  ate 
chowder  and  broiled  lobster  in  a  restaurant  high  in 
a  fantastic  tower.  They  swept  up  painted  Alpine 
slopes  in  reckless  cars,  they  drifted  through  dark 
tunnels  in  gorgeous  gondolas.  Eve  took  her  pleas- 
ures with  a  sort  of  feverish  enthusiasm,  Marie-Louise 
with  the  air  of  a  skeptic  trying  out  a  new  thing. 

"  Mother  would  faint  and  fade  away  if  she  knew  I 
was  here,"  Marie- Louise  told  Richard  as  she  sat  next 
to  him  in  a  movie  show,  "  and  so  would  Dad.  He 
would  object  to  the  germs  and  she  would  object  to 
the  crowd.  Mother  is  like  a  flower  in  a  sunlighted 
garden.  She  can't  imagine  that  a  lily  could  grow 
with  its  feet  in  the  mud.  But  they  do.  And  Dad 
knows  it.  But  he  likes  to  have  mother  stay  in  the 
sunlighted  garden.  He  would  never  have  fallen  in 
love  with  her  if  her  roots  had  been  in  the  mud." 

She  was  murmuring  this  into  Richard's  ear.  Eve 
was  on  the  other  side  of  him,  with  Pip  beyond. 

"  I've  never  had  a  day  like  this,"  Marie- Louise 
259 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

further  confided,  "  and  I  am  not  sure  that  I  like  it. 
It  seems  so  far  away  from — Pan — and  the  trees — 
and  the  river." 

Her  voice  dropped  into  silence,  and  Richard  sat 
there  beside  her  like  a  stone,  seeing  nothing  of  the 
pictures  thrown  on  the  screen.  He  saw  a  road  which 
led  between  spired  cedars,  he  saw  an  old  house  with 
a  wide  porch.  He  saw  a  golden-lighted  table,  and 
his  mother's  face  across  the  candles.  He  saw  a  girl 
in  a  brown  coat  scattering  food  for  the  birds  with  a 
kind  little  hand — he  heard  the  sound  of  a  bell ! 

When  they  reached  the  yacht,  Winifred  was 
dressed  for  dinner,  and  Eve  and  Marie-Louise  scur- 
ried below  to  change.  They  dined  on  the  upper 
deck  by  moonlight,  and  sat  late  enjoying  the  still 
warmth  of  the  night.  There  was  no  wind  and  they 
seemed  to  sail  through  silver  waters. 

Marie-Louise  sang  for  them.  Strange  little  songs 
for  which  she  had  composed  both  words  and  music. 
They  had  haunting  cadences,  and  Pip  told  her  "  For 
Heaven's  sake,  kiddie,  cheer  up.  You  are  making 
us  cry." 

She  laughed,  and  gave  them  a  group  of  old 
nursery  rhymes.  Most  of  them  had  to  do  with 
things  to  eat.  There  was  the  Dame  who  baked  her 
pies  "  on  Christmas  day  in  the  morning,"  and  the 
Queen  who  made  the  tarts,  and  Jenny  Wren  and  her 
currant  wine. 

"They  are  what  I  call  appetizing,"  she  said 
260 


FEAR  WALKS  IN  A  STORM 

quaintly.  "  When  I  was  a  tiny  tot  Dad  kept  me  on 
a  diet.  I  was  never  allowed  to  eat  pies  or  tarts  or 
puddings.  So  I  used  to  feast  vicariously  on  my 
nursery  rhymes." 

They  laughed,  as  she  had  meant  they  should,  and 
Pip  said,  "  Give  us  another,"  so  she  chanted  with  in- 
creasing dramatic  effect  the  story  of  King  Arthur. 

"  A  bag  pudding  the  king  did  make, 
And  stuffed  it  well  with  plums, 
And  in  it  put  great  hunks  of  fat, 
As  big  as  my  two  thumbs " 

"Think  of  the  effect  of  those  hunks  of  fat,"  she 
explained  amid  their  roars  of  laughter,  "  on  my  dieted 
mind." 

"  I  hate  to  think  of  things  to  eat,"  Eve  said.  "  And 
I  can't  imagine  myself  cooking — in  a  kitchen." 

"  Where  else  would  you  cook  ?  "  Marie-Louise  de- 
manded practically.  "  I'd  like  it.  I  went  once  with 
my  nurse  to  her  mother's  house,  and  she  was  cook- 
ing ham  and  frying  eggs  and  we  sat  down  to  a  table 
with  a  red  cloth  and  had  the  ham  and  eggs  with 
great  slices  of  bread  and  strong  tea.  My  nurse  let 
me  eat  all  I  wanted,  because  her  mother  said  it 
wouldn't  hurt  me,  and  it  didn't.  But  my  mother 
never  knew.  And  always  after  that  I  liked  to  think 
of  Lucy's  mother  and  that  warm  nice  kitchen,  and 
the  plump,  pleasant  woman  and  the  ham  and  eggs 
and  tea." 

261 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

She  was  very  serious,  but  they  roared  again.  She 
was  so  far  away  from  anything  that  was  homely  and 
housewifely,  with  her  red  hair  peaked  up  to  a  high 
knot,  her  thick  white  coat  with  its  black  animal  skin 
enveloping  her  shoulders,  the  gleam  of  silver  slip- 
pers. 

"  Dicky,"  Eve  said,  "  I  hope  you  are  not  expect- 
ing me  to  cook  in  Arcadia." 

"  I  don't  expect  anything." 

"  Every  man  expects  something,"  Winifred  inter- 
posed ;  "  subconsciously  he  wants  a  hearth-woman. 
That's  the  primitive." 

"  I  don't  want  a  hearth-woman,"  Pip  announced. 

Dutton  Ames  chuckled.  "You're  a  stone-age 
man,  Meade.  You'd  like  to  woo  with  a  club,  and 
carry  the  day's  kill  to  the  woman  in  your  tent." 

A  quick  fire  lighted  Pip's  eyes.  "  Jove,  it  wouldn't 
be  bad,  would  it?  What  do  you  think,  Eve?" 

"  I  like  your  yacht  better,  and  your  chef  and  your 
alligator  pears,  and  caviar." 

An  hour  later  Eve  and  Richard  were  alone  on 
deck.  The  others  had  gone  down.  The  lovers  had 
preferred  the  moonlight. 

"  Eve,  old  lady,"  Richard  said,  "  you  know  that 
even  with  Austin's  help  I'm  not  going  to  be  a  Croe- 
sus. There  won't  be  yachts — and  chefs — and  alliga- 
tor pears." 

"Jealous,  Dicky?" 

"  No.  But  you've  always  had  these  things,  Eve." 
262 


FEAR   WALKS  IN  A  STORM 

"  I  shall  still  have  them.  Aunt  Maude  won't  let 
us  suffer.  She's  a  good  old  soul." 

"  Do  you  think  I  shall  care  to  partake  of  Aunt 
Maude's  bounty  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  not.  But  I  am  not  so  stiff-necked.  Oh, 
Ducky  Dick,  do  you  think  that  I  am  going  to  let 
you  keep  on  being  poor  and  priggish  and  steady- 
minded  ?  " 

"  Am  I  that,  Eve  ?  " 

"  You  know  you  are." 

Her  laughing  eyes  challenged  him.  He  would 
have  been  less  than  a  man  if  he  had  not  responded 
to  the  appeal  of  her  youth  and  beauty.  "  Dicky," 
she  said,  "  when  we  are  married  I  am  going  to  give 
you  the  time  of  your  young  life.  All  work  and  no 
play  will  make  you  a  dull  boy,  Dicky." 

In  the  night  the  clouds  came  up  over  the  moon, 
and  when  the  late  and  lazy  party  appeared  on  deck 
for  luncheon,  Marie-Louise  complained.  "  I  hate  it 
this  way.  There's  going  to  be  a  storm." 

There  was  a  storm  before  night.  It  blew  up 
tearingly  from  the  south  and  there  was  menace  in  it 
and  madness. 

Winifred  and  Eve  were  good  sailors.  But  Marie- 
Louise  went  to  pieces.  She  was  frantic  with  fear, 
and  as  the  night  wore  on,  Richard  found  himself 
much  concerned  for  her. 

She  insisted  on  staying  on  deck.  "  I  feel  like  a 
rat  in  a  trap  when  I  am  inside.  I  want  to  face  it." 

263 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

The  wind  was  roaring  about  them.  The  sea  was 
black  and  the  sky  was  black,  a  thick  velvety  black 
that  turned  to  copper  when  the  lightning  came. 

"  Aren't  you  afraid  ?  "  Marie-Louise  demanded  ; 
"aren't  you?" 

"  No." 

"  Why  shouldn't  you  be  ?  Why  shouldn't  any- 
body be?" 

"  My  nerves  are  strong,  Marie-Louise." 

"  It  isn't  nerves.  It's  faith.  You  believe  that  the 
boat  won't  go  down,  and  you  believe  that  if  it  did 
go  down  your  soul  wouldn't  die." 

Her  white  face  was  close  to  him.  "  I  wish  I  could 
believe  like  that,"  she  said  in  a  high,  sharp  voice. 
Then  she  screamed  as  the  little  ship  seemed  caught 
up  into  the  air  and  flung  down  again. 

"  Hush,"  Richard  told  her  ;  "  hush,  Marie-Louise." 

She  was  shaking  and  shivering.  "  I  hate  it,"  she 
sobbed. 

Pip,  like  a  yellow  specter  in  oilskins,  came  up  to 
them.  "  Eve  wants  you,  Brooks,"  he  shouted  above 
the  clamor  of  wind  and  wave. 

"Shall  we  go  in,  Marie-Louise?" 

"  No,  no."     She  cowered  against  his  arm. 

Over  her  head  Richard  said  to  Pip,  "  I  shall  come 
as  soon  as  I  can." 

So  Pip  went  down,  and  the  two  were  left  alone  in 
the  tumult  and  blackness  of  the  night. 

As  Marie-Louise  lay  for  a  moment  quiet  against 
264 


FEAR  WALKS  IN  A  STORM 

his  arm,  Richard  bent  down  to  her.     "  Are  you  still 
afraid?" 

"  Yes,  oh,  yes.  I  keep  thinking — if  I  should  die. 
And  I  am  afraid  to  die." 

"You  are  not  going  to  die.  And  if  you  were 
there  would  be  nothing  to  fear.  Death  is  just — 
falling  asleep.  Rarely  any  terror.  We  doctors 
know,  who  see  people  die.  I  know  it,  and  your 
father  knows  it." 

By  the  light  of  a  blinding  flash  he  saw  her  white 
face  with  its  wet  red  hair. 

"  Dad  doesn't  know  it  as  you  -know,"  she  said, 
chokingly.  "  He  couldn't  say  it  as  you — say  it." 

"Why  not?" 

"  He's  like  I  am.     Dad's  afraid." 

The  storm  swept  on,  leaving  the  waves  rough 
behind  it,  and  Richard  at  last  put  Marie-Louise  to 
bed  with  a  sleeping  powder.  Then  he  went  to  hunt 
up  Eve.  He  was  very  tired  and  it  was  very  late. 
The  night  had  passed,  and  the  dawn  would  soon 
be  coming  up  over  the  horizon.  He  found  Pip  in 
the  smoking  room.  Eve  had  gone  to  bed.  Every- 
body had  gone  to  bed.  It  had  been  a  terrible  storm. 

Richard  agreed  that  it  had  been  terrible.  He  was 
glad  that  Eve  could  sleep.  He  couldn't  understand 
why  Austin  had  allowed  Marie-Louise  to  take  such 
a  trip.  Her  fear  of  storms  was  evidently  quite  un- 
controllable. And  she  was  at  all  times  hysterical 
and  high-strung. 

265 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

Pip  was  not  interested  in  Marie-Louise.  "  Eve 
lost  her  nerve  at  the  last." 

Richard  was  solicitous.  "  I'm  sorry.  I  wanted 
to  come  down,  but  I  couldn't  leave  Marie-Louise. 
Eve's  normal,  and  she'll  be  all  right  as  soon  as  the 
storm  stops.  But  Marie-Louise  may  suffer  for  days. 
The  sooner  she  gets  on  shore  the  better." 

He  went  on  deck,  and  looked  out  upon  a  gray 
wind-swept  world. 

Then  the  sun  came  up,  and  there  was  a  great  light 
upon  the  waters. 

All  the  next  day  Marie-Louise  lay  in  a  long  chair. 
"  Dad  told  me  not  to  come,"  she  confessed  to  Rich- 
ard. "I've  been  this  way  before.  But  I  wouldn't 
listen." 

"  If  I  had  been  your  father,"  Richard  said,  "  you 
would  have  listened,  and  you  would  have  stayed  at 
home." 

She  grinned.  "  You  can't  be  sure.  Nobody  can 
be  sure.  I  don't  like  to  take  orders." 

"  Until  you  learn  to  take  orders  you  aren't  going 
to  amount  to  much,  Marie-Louise." 

"  I  amount  to  a  great  deal.  And  your  ideas 
are — old-fashioned ;  that's  what  your  Eve  says, 
Dr.  Dicky." 

She  looked  at  him  through  her  long  eyelashes. 
"  What's  the  matter  with  your  Eve  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"She  is  punishing  you,  but  you  don't  know  it. 
266 


FEAR  WALKS  IN  A  STORM 

She  is  down-stairs  playing  bridge  with  Pip  and  Tony 
and  Win,  and  leaving  you  alone  to  meditate  on  your 
sins.  And  you  aren't  meditating.  You  are  talking 
to  me.  I  am  going  to  write  a  poem  about  a  Laggard 
Lover.  I'll  make  you  a  shepherd  boy  who  sits  on 
the  hills  and  watches  his  sheep.  And  when  the  girl 
who  loves  him  calls  to  him,  he  refuses  to  go — he 
still  watches — his  sheep." 

He  looked  puzzled.  "  I  don't  know  in  the  least 
what  you  are  talking  about." 

"  You  are  the  shepherd.  Your  work  is  the  sheep 
— Eve  is  the  girl.  Your  work  will  always  be  more 
to  you  than  the  woman.  Dad's  work  isn't.  He 
never  forgets  mother  for  a  minute." 

"And  you  think  that  I'll  forget  Eve  ?" 

"  Yes.     And  she'll  hate  that." 

There  was  a  spark  in  his  eye. 

"  I  think  that  we  won't  discuss  Eve,  Marie-Louise." 

"  Then  I'll  discuss  her  in  a  poem.  Lend  me  a 
pencil,  please." 

He  gave  her  the  pencil  and  a  prescription  pad, 
and  she  set  to  work.  She  read  snatches  to  him  as 
she  progressed.  It  was  remarkably  clever,  with  a 
constantly  recurring  refrain. 

"  Let  me  watch  my  sheep"  said  the  lover,  "  my 
sheep  on  the  hills" 

The  verses  went  on  to  relate  that  the  girl,  finding 
her  shepherd  dilatory,  turned  her  attention  to  an- 
other swain,  and  at  last  she  flouts  the  shepherd. 

267 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

"  Go  watch  your  sheep,  laggard  lover,  your  sheep  on 
the  hills." 

She  laid  the  verses  aside  as  Tony  and  Win  joined 
them. 

"  Three  rubbers,  and  Pip  and  Eve  are  ahead." 

"  Isn't  Eve  coming  ?  " 

"  She  said  she  was  coming  up  soon." 

But  she  did  not  come,  and  Pip  did  not  come. 
Marie-Louise,  with  a  great  rug  spread  over  her, 
slept  in  her  chair.  Dutton  Ames  read  aloud  to  his 
wife.  Richard  rose  and  went  to  look  for  Eve. 

There  was  a  little  room  which  Pip  called  "  The 
Skipper's  own."  It  was  furnished  in  a  man's  way 
as  a  den,  with  green  leather  and  carved  oak  and 
plenty  of  books.  Its  windows  gave  a  forward  view 
of  sky  and  water. 

It  was  here  that  the  four  of  them  had  been  play- 
ing auction.  Eve  was  now  shuffling  the  cards  for 
Solitaire. 

Pip,  watching  her,  caught  suddenly  at  her  left 
hand.  "  Why  didn't  Brooks  give  you  a  better 
ring?" 

"  I  like  my  ring.     Let  go  of  my  hand,  Pip." 

"  I  won't.  What's  the  matter  with  the  man  that 
he  should  dare  dream  of  tying  you  down  to  what  he 
can  give  you  ?  It  seems  to  me  that  he  lacks  pride." 

"  He  doesn't  lack  anything.  Let  go  of  my  hand, 
Pip." 

But  he  still  held  it.  "  How  he  could  have  the 
268 


FEAR  WALKS  IN  A  STORM 

courage   to  ask — until   he   had   made  a  name  for 
himself." 

She  blazed.  "  He  didn't  ask.  I  asked  him,  Pip. 
I  cared  enough  for  that." 

He  dropped  her  hand  as  if  it  had  stung  him. 
"  You  cared — as  much  as  that  ?  " 

She  faced  him  bravely.  "As  much  as  that — it 
pleased  me  to  say  what  it  was  my  right  to  say." 

"  Oh  !  It  was  the  queen,  then,  and  the- — beggar 
man.  Eve,  come  back." 

She  was  at  the  door,  but  she  turned.  "  I'll  come 
back  if  you  will  beg  my  pardon.  Richard  is  not  a 
beggar,  and  I  am  not  the  queen.  How  hateful  you 
are,  Pip." 

"  I  won't  beg  your  pardon.  And  let's  have  this 
out  right  now,  Eve." 

"  Have  what  out  ?  " 

"  Sit  down,  and  I'll  tell  you." 

Once  more  they  were  seated  with  the  table  between 
them.  Pip's  back  was  to  the  window,  but  Eve  faced 
the  broad  expanse  of  sky  and  sea,  A  faint  pink  flush 
was  on  the  waters :  a  silver  star  hung  at  the  edge  of 
a  crescent  moon.  There  was  no  sound  but  the  purr 
of  machinery  and  the  mewing  of  gulls  in  the  dis- 
tance. 

Eve  was  in  pink — a  straight  linen  frock  with  a  low 
white  collar.  It  gave  her  an  air  of  simplicity  quite 
unlike  her  usual  elegance.  Pip  feasted  his  eyes  on 
her. 

269 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

41  You've  got  to  face  it.     Brooks  doesn't  care." 

"  He  does  care." 

"  He  didn't  care  enough  to  come  down  last  night 
when  you  were  afraid — and  wanted  him.  And  you 
turned  to  me,  just  for  one  little  minute,  Eve.  Do 
you  think  I  shall  ever  forget  the  thrill  of  the  thought 
that  you  turned  to  me  ?  " 

She  was  staring  straight  out  at  the  little  moon. 
"  Marie-Louise  was  his  patient — he  had  to  stay  with 
her." 

"  You  are  saying  that  to  me,  but  in  your  heart 
you  know  you  are  resenting  the  fact  that  he  didn't 
come  when  you  called.  Aren't  you,  Eve?  Aren't 
you  resenting  it  ?  " 

She  told  him  the  truth.  "  Yes.  But  I  know  that 
when  I  am  his  wife,  I  shall  have  to  let  him  think 
about  his  patients.  I  ought  to  be  big  enough  for 
that." 

"You  are  big  enough  for  anything.  But  you  are 
not  always  going  to  be  content  with  crumbs  from  the 
king's  table.  And  that's  what  you  are  getting  from 
Brooks.  And  I  have  a  feast  ready.  Eve,  can't  you 
see  that  I  would  give,  give,  give,  and  he  will  take, 
take,  take?  Eve,  can't  you  see?" 

She  did  see,  and  for  the  moment  she  was  swayed 
by  the  force  of  his  passionate  eloquence. 

She  leaned  toward  him  a  little.  "  Pip,  dear,  I 
wish — sometimes — that  it  might  have  been — you." 

It  needed  only  this.  He  swept  the  card  table 
270 


FEAR  WALKS  IN  A  STORM 

aside  with  his  strong  arms.  He  was  on  his  knees 
begging  for  love,  for  life.  Her  hair  swept  his  cheek. 

The  little  moon  shone  clear  in  the  quiet  sky. 
There  was  not  much  light,  but  there  was  enough  for 
a  man  standing  in  the  door  to  see  two  dark  figures 
outlined  against  the  silver  space  beyond. 

And  Richard  was  standing  in  the  door  ! 

Eve  saw  him  first.  "  Go  away,  Pip,"  she  said, 
and  stood  up.  "  I — I  think  I  can  make  him  under- 
stand." 

When  they  were  alone  she  said  to  Richard  in  a 
strained  voice,  "  It  was  my  fault,  Dicky." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you — let  him,  Eve  ?  " 

"  No.  But  I  let  him  talk  about  his  love  for  me — 
and — and — he  cares  very  much." 

"  He  knows  that  you  are  engaged  to  me." 

"  Yes.  But  last  night  when  you  stayed  on  deck 
when  I  needed  you  and  asked  for  you,  Pip  knew 
that  you  wouldn't  come — and  he  was  sorry  for  me." 

"  And  he  was  sorry  again  this  afternoon  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  And  he  showed  it  by  making  love  to  you  ?  " 

"  He  thinks  I  won't  be  happy  with  you.  He 
thinks  that  you  don't  care.  He  thinks " 

"  I  don't  care  what  Meade  thinks.  I  want  to  know 
what  you  think,  Eve." 

Their  voices  had  come  out  of  the  darkness.  She 
pulled  the  little  chain  of  a  wall  bracket,  and  the  room 
was  enveloped  in  a  warm  wave  of  light.  "  I  don't 

271 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

know  what  I  think.     But  I  hated  to  have  you  with 
Marie- Louise." 

"She  was  very  ill.  You  knew  that.  Eve,  if  we 
can't  trust  each  other,  what  possible  happiness  can 
there  be  ahead  ?  " 

She  had  no  answer  ready. 

"  Of  course  I  can't  stay  on  Meade's  boat  after 
this,"  he  went  on  ;  "  I'll  get  them  to  run  in  here 
somewhere  and  drop  me." 

She  sank  back  in  the  chair  from  which  she  had 
risen  when  Philip  left  them.  His  troubled  eyes  resting 
upon  her  saw  a  blur  of  pink  and  gold  out  of  which 
emerged  her  white  face. 

"  But  I  want  you  to  stay." 

"  You  shouldn't  want  me  to  stay,  Eve.  I  can't 
accept  his  hospitality,  after  this,  and  call  myself — a 
man." 

"  Oh,  Dicky — I  detest  heroics." 

She  was  startled  by  the  tone  in  which  he  said,  "  If 
that  is  the  way  you  feel  about  it,  we  might  as  well 
end  it  here." 

"  Dicky " 

"  I  mean  it,  Eve.  The  whole  thing  is  based 
on  the  fact  that  I  stayed  with  a  patient  when  you 
wanted  me.  Well,  I  shall  always  be  staying  with 
patients  after  we  are  married,  and  if  you  are  unable 
to  see  why  I  must  do  the  thing  I  did  last  night,  then 
you  will  never  be  able  to  see  it.  And  a  doctor's  wife 
must  see  it" 

272 


FEAR  WALKS  IN  A  STORM 

She  came  up  to  him,  and  in  the  darkness  laid  her 
cheek  against  his  arm.  "  Dicky,  don't  joke  about  a 
thing  like  that.  I  can't  stand  it.  And  I'm  sorry 
about — Pip.  Dicky,  I  shall  die  if  you  don't  forgive 
me." 

He  forgave  her.  He  even  made  himself  believe 
that  Pip  might  be  forgiven.  He  exerted  himself  to 
seem  at  his  ease  at  dinner.  He  said  nothing  more 
about  leaving  at  the  next  landing. 

But  late  that  night  he  sat  alone  on  deck  in  the 
darkness.  He  was  a  plain  man,  and  he  saw  things 
straight.  And  this  thing  was  crooked.  The  hot 
honor  of  his  youth  revolted  against  the  situation  in 
which  he  saw  himself.  He  felt  hurt  and  ashamed. 
It  was  as  if  the  dreams  of  his  boyhood  had  been 
dragged  in  the  dust. 


273 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
In  Which  We  Hear  Once  More  of  a  Sandalwood  Fan, 

IN  the  winter  which  followed  Richard  often  won- 
dered if  he  were  the  same  man  who  had  ridden 
his  old   Ben   up   over  the  hills,  and  had  said  his 
solemn  grace  at  his  own  candle-lighted  table. 

It  had  been  decided  that  he  and  Eve  should 
wait  until  another  year  for  their  wedding.  Richard 
wanted  to  get  a  good  start.  Eve  was  impatient,  but 
acquiesced. 

It  was  not  Richard's  engagement,  however,  which 
gave  to  his  life  the  effect  of  strangeness.  It  was, 
rather,  his  work,  which  swept  him  into  a  maelstrom 
of  new  activities.  Austin  needed  rest  and  he  knew 
it.  Richard  was  young  and  strong.  The  older  man, 
using  his  assistant  as  a  buffer  between  himself  and 
a  demanding  public,  felt  no  compunction.  His  own 
apprenticeship  had  been  hard. 

So  Richard  in  Austin's  imposing  limousine  was 
whirled  through  fashionable  neighborhoods  and  up 
to  exclusive  doorways.  He  presided  at  operations 
where  the  fees  were  a  year's  income  for  a  poor  man. 
A  certain  percentage  of  these  fees  came  to  him.  He 
found  that  he  need  have  no  fears  for  his  financial 
future. 

274 


A  SANDALWOOD  FAN 

His  letters  from  his  mother  were  his  only  link 
with  the  old  life.  She  wrote  that  she  was  well. 
That  Anne  Warfield  was  with  her,  and  Cousin  Sulie, 
and  that  the  three  of  them  and  Cousin  David  played 
whist.  That  Anne  was  such  a  dear — that  she  didn't 
know  what  she  would  do  without  her. 

Richard  went  as  often  as  he  could  on  Sundays  to 
Crossroads.  But  at  such  times  he  saw  little  of  Anne. 
She  felt  that  no  one  should  intrude  on  the  reunions 
of  mother  and  son.  So  she  visited  at  Beulah's  or 
Bower's  and  came  back  on  Mondays. 

Nancy  persisted  in  her  refusal  to  go  back  to  New 
York.  "  I  know  I  am  silly,"  she  told  her  son,  "  but 
I  have  a  feeling  that  I  shouldn't  be  able  to  breathe, 
and  should  die  of  suffocation." 

Richard  spoke  to  Dr.  Austin  of  his  mother's  state 
of  mind.  "  Queer  thing,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"A  natural  thing,  I  should  say.  Your  father's 
death  was  an  awful  blow.  I  often  wonder  how  she 
lived  out  the  years  while  she  waited  for  you  to 
finish  school." 

"  But  she  did  live  them,  so  that  I  might  be  pre- 
pared to  practice  at  Crossroads.  As  I  think  of  it, 
it  seems  monstrous  that  I  should  disappoint  her." 

"  Fledglings  always  leave  the  nest.  Mothers  have 
that  to  expect.  The  selfishness  of  the  young  makes 
for  progress.  It  would  have  been  equally  monstrous 
if  you  had  stayed  in  that  dull  place  wasting  your 
talents." 

275 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

"Would  it  have  been  wasted,  sir?  There's  no 
one  taking  my  place  in  the  old  country.  And  there 
are  many  who  could  fill  it  here.  There's  a  chance 
at  Crossroads  for  big  work  for  the  right  man.  Com- 
munity water  supply — better  housing,  the  health 
conditions  of  the  ignorant  foreign  folk  who  work 
the  small  farms.  A  country  doctor  ought  to  have 
the  missionary  spirit." 

"  There  are  plenty  of  little  men  for  such  places." 

"  It  takes  big  men.  I  could  make  our  old  country- 
side bloom  like  a  rose  if  I  could  put  into  it  half  the 
effort  that  I  am  putting  into  my  work  with  you. 
But  it  would  be  lean  living — and  I  have  chosen  the 
flesh-pots." 

"  Don't  despise  yourself  because  you  couldn't  go 
on  being  poor  in  a  big  way.  You  are  going  to  be 
rich  in  a  big  way,  and  that  is  better." 

As  the  days  went  on,  however,  Richard  won- 
dered if  it  were  really  better  to  be  rich  in  a  big  way. 
Sometimes  the  very  bigness  and  richness  oppressed 
him.  He  found  himself  burdened  by  the  splendor 
of  the  mansions  at  which  he  made  his  morning  calls. 
He  hated  the  sleekness  of  the  men  in  livery  who 
preceded  him  up  the  stairs,  the  trimness  of  the  maids 
waiting  on  the  threshold  of  hushed  boudoirs.  Dis- 
ease and  death  in  these  sumptuous  palaces  seemed 
divorced  from  reality  as  if  the  palaces  were  stage 
structures,  and  the  people  in  them  were  actors  who 
would  presently  walk  out  into  the  wings. 

276 


A  SANDALWOOD  FAN 

It  was  therefore  with  some  of  the  feelings  which 
had  often  assailed  him  when  he  had  stepped  from 
a  dim  theater  out  into  the  open  air  that  Richard 
made  his  way  one  morning  to  a  small  apartment  on 
a  down-town  side  street  to  call  on  a  little  girl  who 
had  recently  left  the  charity  ward  at  Austin's  hos- 
pital. Richard  had  operated  for  appendicitis,  and 
had  found  himself  much  interested  in  the  child.  He 
had  dismissed  the  limousine  farther  up.  It  had 
seemed  out  of  place  in  the  shabby  street. 

He  stopped  at  the  florist's  for  a  pot  of  pink  posies 
and  at  another  shop  for  fruit.  Laden  with  parcels 
he  climbed  the  high  stairs  to  the  top  floor  of  the 
tenement. 

The  little  girl  and  her  grandmother  lived  together. 
The  grandmother  had  a  small  pension,  and  sewed 
by  the  day  for  several  old  customers.  They  thus 
managed  to  pay  expenses,  but  poverty  pinched. 
Richard  had  from  the  first,  however,  been  impressed 
by  their  hopefulness.  Neither  the  grandmother  nor 
the  child  seemed  to  look  upon  their  lot  as  hard.  The 
grandmother  made  savory  stews  on  a  snug  little 
stove  and  baked  her  own  sweet  loaves.  Now  and 
then  she  baked  a  cake.  Things  were  spotlessly 
clean,  and  there  were  sunshine  and  fresh  air.  To 
have  pitied  those  two  would  have  been  superfluous. 

After  he  had  walked  briskly  out  into  Fifth  Avenue, 
he  was  thinking  of  another  grandmother  on  whom 
he  had  called  a  few  days  before.  She  was  a  haughty 

277 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

old  dame,  but  she  was  browbeaten  by  her  maid.  Her 
grandchildren  were  brought  in  now  and  then  to  kiss 
her  hand.  They  were  glad  to  get  away.  They  had 
no  real  need  of  her.  They  had  no  hopes  or  fears  to 
confide.  So  in  spite  of  her  magnificence  and  her 
millions,  she  was  a  lonely  soul. 

Snow  had  fallen  the  night  before,  and  was  now 
melting  in  the  streets,  but  the  sky  was  very  blue 
above  the  tall  buildings.  Christmas  was  not  far 
away,  and  as  Richard  went  up-town  the  crowd  surged 
with  him,  meeting  the  crowd  that  was  coming  down. 

He  had  a  fancy  to  lunch  at  a  little  place  on  Thirty- 
third  Street,  where  they  served  a  soup  with  noodles 
that  was  in  itself  a  hearty  meal.  In  the  days  when 
money  had  been  scarce  the  little  German  cafe  had 
furnished  many  a  feast.  Now  and  then  he  and  his 
mother  had  come  together,  and  had  talked  of  how, 
when  their  ship  came  in,  they  would  dine  at  the  big 
hotel  around  the  corner. 

And  now  that  his  ship  was  in,  and  he  could  afford 
the  big  hotel,  it  had  no  charms.  He  hated  the 
women  dawdling  in  its  alleys,  the  men  smoking  in 
its  corridors,  the  whole  idle  crowd,  lunching  in  acres 
of  table-crowded  space. 

So  he  set  as  his  goal  the  clean  little  restaurant, 
and  swung  along  toward  it  with  something  of  his  old 
boyish  sense  of  elation. 

And  then  a  strange  thing  happened.  For  the  first 
time  in  months  he  found  his  heart  marking  time  to 

278 


A  SANDALWOOD  FAN 

the  tune  of  the  song  which  old  Ben's  hoofs  had  beaten 
out  of  the  roads  as  they  made  their  way  up  into  the 
hills  — 

"  I  think  she  was  the  most  beautiful  lady, 
That  ever  was  in  the  West  Country " 


He  was  even  humming  it  under  his  breath,  unheard 
amid  the  hum  and  stir  of  the  crowded  city  street. 

The  shops  on  either  side  of  him  displayed  in  their 
low  windows  a  wealth  of  tempting  things.  Rugs 
with  a  sheen  like  the  bloom  of  a  peach — alabaster  in 
curved  and  carved  bowls  and  vases,  old  prints  in  dull 
gilt  frames — furniture  following  the  lines  of  Floren- 
tine elaborateness — his  eyes  took  in  all  the  color  and 
glow,  though  he  rarely  stopped  for  a  closer  view. 

In  front  of  one  broad  window,  however,  he  hesi- 
tated. The  opening  of  the  door  had  spilled  into  the 
frosty  air  of  this  alien  city  the  scent  of  the  Orient — 
the  fragrance  of  incense — of  spicy  perfumed  woods. 

In  the  window  a  jade  god  sat  high  on  a  teakwood 
pedestal.  A  string  of  scarlet  beads  lighted  a  shad- 
owy corner.  On  an  ancient  and  priceless  lacquered 
cabinet  were  enthroned  two  other  gods  of  gold  and 
ivory.  A  crystal  ball  reflected  a  length  of  blue 
brocade.  A  clump  of  Chinese  bulbs  bloomed  in  an 
old  Ming  bowl. 

Richard  went  into  the  shop.  Subconsciously,  he 
went  with  a  purpose.  But  the  purpose  was  not  re- 
vealed to  him  until  he  came  to  a  case  in  which  was 

279 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

set  forth  a  certain  marvelous  collection.  He  knew 
then  that  the  old  song  and  the  scents  had  formed  an 
association  of  ideas  which  had  lured  him  away  from 
the  streets  and  into  the  shop,  that  he  might  buy  for 
Anne  Warfield  a  sandalwood  fan. 

He  found  what  he  wanted.  A  sweet  and  wonder- 
ful bit  of  wood,  carved  like  lace,  with  green  and 
purple  tassels. 

It  was  when  he  had  it  safe  in  his  pocket,  in  a  box 
that  was  gay  with  yellow  and  green  and  gold,  that 
he  was  aware  of  voices  in  the  back  of  the  shop. 

There  were  tables  where  tea  was  served  to  special 
customers — at  the  expense  of  the  management. 
Thus  a  vulgar  bargain  became  as  it  were  a  hospi- 
tality— you  bought  teakwood  and  had  tea ;  carved 
ivories,  and  were  rewarded  with  little  cakes. 

In  that  dim  space  under  a  low  hung  lamp,  Marie- 
Louise  talked  with  the  fat  Armenian. 

He  was  the  same  Armenian  who  had  told  her  for- 
tune at  Coney.  He  stood  by  Marie-Louise's  side 
while  she  drank  her  tea,  and  spoke  to  her  of  the  poet- 
king  with  whom  she  had  walked  on  the  banks  of  the 
Nile. 

Richard  approaching  asked,  "  How  did  you  hap- 
pen to  come  here,  Marie-Louise  ?  " 

"  I  often  come.  I  like  it.  It  is  next  to  traveling 
in  far  countries."  She  indicated  the  fat  Armenian. 
"  He  tells  me  about  things  that  happened  to  me — in 
the  ages — when  I  lived  before." 

280 


A  slender  youth  in  white  silk  with  a  crimson  sash 
brought  tea  for  Richard.  But  he  refused  it.  "  I  am 
on  my  way  to  lunch,  Marie-Louise.  Will  you  go 
with  me?" 

She  hesitated  and  glanced  at  the  fat  Armenian. 
"  I've  some  things  to  buy." 

"  I'll  wait." 

She  flitted  about  the  shop  with  the  fat  Armenian 
in  her  train.  He  showed  her  treasures  shut  away 
from  the  public  eye,  and  she  bought  long  lengths  of 
heavy  silks,  embroideries  thick  with  gold,  a  moon- 
stone bracelet  linked  with  silver. 

The  fat  Armenian,  bending  over  her,  seemed  to 
direct  and  suggest.  Richard,  watching,  hated  the 
man's  manner. 

Outside  in  the  sunshine,  he  spoke  of  it.  "  I 
wouldn't  go  there  alone." 

"Why  not?" 

"  I  don't  like  to  see  you  among  those  people — on 
such  terms.  They  don't  understand,  and  they're — 
different." 

"  I  like  them  because  they  are  different,"  ob- 
stinately. 

He  shifted  his  ground.  "  Marie- Louise,  will  you 
lunch  with  me  at  a  cheap  little  place  around  the 
corner  ?  " 

"  Why  a  cheap  little  place  ?  " 

"  Because  I  like  the  good  soup,  and  the  clean  little 
German  woman,  and  the  quiet  and — the  memories." 

281 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

"  What  memories  ?  " 

"  I  used  to  go  there  when  I  was  poor." 

She  entered  eagerly  into  the  adventure,  and 
ordered  her  car  to  wait.  Then  away  they  fared 
around  jhe  corner ! 

Within  the  homely  little  restaurant,  Marie-Louise's 
elegance  was  more  than  ever  apparent.  Her  long 
coat  of  gray  velvet  with  its  silver  fox  winked  opu- 
lently from  the  back  of  her  chair  at  the  coarse  table- 
cloth and  the  paper  napkins. 

But  the  soup  was  good,  and  the  German  woman 
smiled  at  them,  and  brought  them  a  special  dish  of 
hard  almond  cakes  with  their  coffee. 

"  I  love  it,"  Marie-Louise  said.  "  It  is  like  Hans 
Andersen  and  my  fairy  books.  Will  you  bring  me 
here  again,  Dr.  Richard  ?  " 

"  I  am  glad  you  like  it,"  he  told  her.  "  I  wanted 
you  to  like  it." 

"  I  like  it  because  I  like  you,"  she  said  with  frank- 
ness, "and  you  seem  to  belong  in  the  fairy  tale. 
You  are  so  big  and  strong  and  young.  I  don't  feel 
a  thousand  years  old  when  I  am  with  you.  You  are 
such  a  change  from  everybody  else,  Dr.  Dicky." 

Richard  spoke  the  next  day  to  Austin  of  Marie- 
Louise  and  the  fat  Armenian.  "  She  shouldn't  be 
going  to  such  shops  alone.  She  has  a  romantic 
streak  in  her,  and  they  take  advantage  of  it." 

"  She  ought  never  to  go  alone,"  Austin  agreed, 
"  and  I  have  told  her.  But  what  am  I  going  to  do  ? 

282 


A  SANDALWOOD  FAN 

I  can  rule  a  world  of  patients,  Brooks,  but  I  can't 
rule  my  woman  child,"  he  laughed  ruefully.  "  I've 
tried  having  a  maid  accompany  her,  but  she  sends 
her  home." 

"  I  wish  she  might  have  gone  to  the  Crossroads 
school,  and  have  known  the  Crossroads  teacher — 
Anne  Warfield.  You  remember  Cynthia  Warfield, 
sir  ;  this  is  her  granddaughter." 

Austin  remembered  Cynthia,  and  he  wanted  to 
know  more  of  Anne.  Richard  told  him  of  Anne's 
saneness  and  common  sense.  "  I  am  so  glad  that 
she  can  be  with  my  mother,  and  that  the  children 
have  her  in  the  school.  She  is  so  wise  and  good." 

He  thought  more  than  once  in  the  days  that  fol- 
lowed of  Anne's  wisdom  and  goodness.  He  decided 
to  send  the  fan.  He  expected  to  go  to  Crossroads 
for  Christmas,  but  he  was  not  at  all  sure  that  he 
should  see  Anne.  Something  had  been  said  about 
her  going  for  the  holidays  to  her  Uncle  Rod. 

Was  it  only  a  year  since  he  had  seen  her  on  the 
rocks  above  the  river  with  a  wreath  in  her  hand,  and 
in  the  stable  at  Bower's,  with  the  lantern  shining 
above  her  head  ? 


283 


CHAPTER  XIX 

In  Which  Christmas  Comes  to  Crossroads. 

NANCY'S  plans  for  Christmas  were  ambitious. 
She   talked  it  over  with  Sulie  Tyson.     "I'll 
have  Anne  and  her  Uncle  Rod.     If  she  goes  to  him 
they  will   eat   their  Christmas  dinner  alone.     Her 
cousins  are  to  be  out  of  town." 

Cousin  Sulie  agreed.  She  was  a  frail  little  woman, 
with  gray  hair  drawn  up  from  her  forehead  above  a 
high-bred  face.  She  spoke  with  earnestness  on  even 
the  most  trivial  subjects.  Now  and  then  she  had 
flashes  of  humor,  but  they  were  rare.  Her  life  had 
been  sad,  and  she  had  always  been  dependent.  The 
traditions  of  her  family  had  made  it  impossible  for 
her  to  indulge  in  any  money-making  occupation. 
Hence  she  had  lived  in  other  people's  houses.  Usu- 
ally with  one  or  the  other  of  two  brothers,  in  some- 
what large  households. 

Her  days,  therefore,  with  Nancy  were  rapturous 
ones. 

"There's  something  in  the  freedom  which  two 
women  can  have  when  they  are  alone,"  she  said, 
"that  is  glorious.  We  are  ourselves.  When  men 
are  around  we  are  always  acting." 

284 


CHRISTMAS 

Nancy  was  not  so  subtle.  "I  am  myself  with 
Richard." 

"No,  you're  not,  Nancy.  You  are  always  trying 
to  please  him.  You  make  him  feel  important.  You 
make  him  feel  that  he  is  the  head  of  the  house. 
You  know  what  I  mean." 

Nancy  did  know.  But  she  didn't  choose  to  ad- 
mit it. 

"  Well,  I  like  to  please  him."  Then  with  a  sud- 
den burst  of  longing,  "  Sulie,  I  want  him  here  all  of 
the  time — to  please." 

"  Oh,  my  dear,"  Sulie  caught  Nancy's  hands  up 
in  her  own,  "  oh,  my  dear.  How  mothers  love  their 
sons.  I  am  glad  I  haven't  any.  I  used  to  long  for 
children.  I  don't  any  more.  Nothing  can  hurt  me 
as  Richard  hurts  you,  Nancy." 

Nancy  refused  to  talk  of  it.  "  We  will  ask  David 
and  Brinsley ;  that  will  be  four  men  and  three 
women,  Sulie." 

"  Well,  I  can  take  care  of  David  if  you'll  look  after 
Brinsley  and  Rodman  Warfield.  And  that  will  leave 
your  Richard  for  Anne." 

Nancy's  candid  glance  met  her  cousin's.  "  That 
is  the  way  I  had  hoped  it  might  be — Richard  and 
Anne.  At  first  I  thought  it  might  be — and  then 
something  happened.  He  went  to  New  York  and 
that  was  the — end." 

"  If  you  had  been  more  of  a  match-maker,"  Sulie 
said,  "  you  might  have  managed.  But  you  always 

285 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

think  that  such  things  are  on  the  knees  of  the  gods. 
Why  didn't  you  bring  them  together  ?  " 

"  I  tried,"  Nancy  confessed.  "  But  Eve — I  hate 
to  say  it,  Sulie.  Eve  was  determined." 

The  two  old-fashioned  women,  making  mental 
estimates  of  this  modern  feminine  product,  found 
themselves  indignant.  "  To  think  that  any  girl 
could " 

It  was  lunch  time,  and  Anne  came  in.  She  had 
Diogenes  under  her  arm.  "  He  will  come  across 
the  road  to  meet  me.  And  I  am  afraid  of  the  auto- 
mobiles. When  he  brings  the  white  duck  and  all  of 
the  little  Diogenes  with  him  he  obstructs  traffic. 
He  stopped  a  touring  car  the  other  day,  and  the 
men  swore  at  him,  and  Diogenes  swore  back." 

She  laughed  and  set  the  old  drake  on  his  feet. 
"  May  I  have  a  slice  of  bread  for  him,  Mother 
Nancy?" 

"  Of  course,  my  dear.     Two,  if  you  wish." 

Diogenes,  having  been  towed  by  his  beloved  mis- 
tress out-of-doors,  was  appeased  with  the  slice  of 
bread.  He  was  a  patriarch  now,  with  a  lovely  mate 
and  a  line  of  waddling  offspring  to  claim  his  devo- 
tion. But  not  an  inch  did  he  swerve  from  his  loyalty 
to  Anne.  She  had  brought  him  with  her  from 
Bower's,  and  he  lived  in  the  barn  with  his  family. 
Twice  a  day,  however,  he  made  a  pilgrimage  to  the 
Crossroads  school.  It  was  these  excursions  which 
Anne  deprecated. 

286 


CHRISTMAS 

11  He  comes  in  when  I  ring  for  recess  and  distracts 
the  children.  He  waddles  straight  up  to  my  desk — 
and  he  is  such  an  old  dear." 

She  laughed,  and  the  two  women  laughed  with 
her.  She  was  their  heart-warming  comrade.  She 
brought  into  their  lonely  lives  something  vivid  and 
sparkling,  at  which  they  drank  for  their  soul's  re- 
freshment. 

Nancy  spoke  of  Rodman  Warfield.  "We  want 
him  here  for  Christmas  and  the  holidays.  Do  you 
think  he  can  come?" 

Anne  flashed  her  radiance  at  them.  "  I  don't 
think.  I  know.  Mother  Nancy,  you're  an  angel." 

"  Richard  is  coming,  of  course.  It  will  be  just  a 
family  party.  Not  many  young  people  for  you,  my 
dear.  Just — Richard." 

There  was  holly  and  crow's-foot  up  in  the  hills, 
and  David  and  Anne  hitched  big  Ben  to  a  cart  and 
went  after  it.  It  was  a  winter  of  snow,  and  in  the 
depths  of  the  woods  there  was  a  great  stillness. 
David  chopped  a  tall  cedar  and  his  blows  echoed 
and  reechoed  in  the  white  spaces.  The  holly  berries 
that  dropped  from  the  cut  branches  were  like  drops 
of  blood  on  the  shining  crust. 

Nancy  and  Sulie  made  up  the  wreaths  and  the 
ropes  of  green,  and  fashioned  ornaments  for  the 
tree.  There  was  to  be  a  bigger  tree  at  the  school 
lor  the  children,  but  this  was  to  be  a  family  affair 
and  was  to  be  free  from  tawdry  tinsel  and  colored 

287 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

glass.  Nancy  liked  straight  little  candles  and  sil 
ver  stars.  "  It  shall  be  an  old-fashioned  tree,"  she 
said,  "  such  as  I  used  to  have  when  I  was  a  child." 

Sulie's  raptures  were  almost  solemn  in  their  in- 
tensity. Richard  sent  money,  plenty  of  it,  and  Sulie 
and  Nancy  went  to  Baltimore  and  spent  it.  "  I 
never  expected,"  Sulie  said,  "  to  go  into  shops  and 
pick  out  things  that  I  liked.  I've  always  had  to 
choose  things  that  I  needed." 

Now  and  then  on  Saturdays  when  Anne  went 
with  them,  they  rushed  through  their  shopping,  had 
lunch  at  the  Woman's  Exchange  and  went  to  a 
matinee. 

Nancy  was  always  glad  to  get  back  home,  but 
Sulie  revelled  in  the  excitement  of  it  all.  Anne 
made  her  buy  a  hat  with  a  flat  pink  rose  which  lay 
enchantingly  against  her  gray  hair. 

"  I  feel  sometimes  as  if  I  had  been  born  again," 
Sulie  said  quaintly ;  "  like  a  flower  that  had  shriv- 
eled up  and  grown  brown,  and  suddenly  found  itself 
blooming  in  the  spring." 

Thus  the  days  went  on,  and  Christmas  was  not  far 
away.  Anne  coming  in  one  afternoon  found  Nancy 
by  the  library  fire  with  a  letter  in  her  hand. 

"  Richard  hopes  to  get  here  on  Friday,  Anne,  in 
time  for  the  tree  and  the  children's  festival.  Some- 
thing may  keep  him,  however,  until  Christmas 
morning.  He  is  very  busy — and  there  are  some 
important  operations." 

288 


CHRISTMAS 

"  How  proud  you  are  of  him,"  Anne  sank  down 
on  the  rug,  and  reached  up  her  hand  for  Nancy, 
"and  how  happy  you  will  be  with  your  big  son. 
Could  you  ever  have  loved  a  daughter  as  much, 
Mother  Nancy  ?  " 

"I'm  not  sure;  perhaps,"  smiling,  "if  she  had 
been  like  you.  And  a  daughter  would  have  stayed 
with  me.  Men  have  wandering  natures — they  must 
be  up  and  out." 

"  Women  have  wandering  natures,  too,"  Anne 
told  her.  "  Do  you  know  that  last  Christmas  I  cried 
and  cried  because  I  was  tied  to  the  Crossroads  school 
and  to  Bower's  ?  I  wanted  to  live  in  the  city  and 
have  lovely  things.  You  can't  imagine  how  I  hated 
all  Eve  Chesley's  elegance.  I  seemed  so— clumsy 
and  common." 

Nancy  stared  at  her  in  amazement.  "  But  you 
surely  don't  feel  that  way  now." 

"  Yes,  I  do.  But  I  am  not  unhappy  any  more. 
It  was  silly  to  be  unhappy  when  I  had  so  much  in 
my  life.  But  if  I  were  a  man,  I'd  be  a  rover,  a  vaga- 
bond— I'd  take  to  the  open  road  rather  than  be  tied 
to  one  spot" 

There  [was  laughter  in  her  eyes,  but  the  words 
rang  true.  "  I  want  to  see  new  things  in  new  peo- 
ple. I  want  to  have  new  experiences — there  must 
be  a  bigger,  broader  world  than  this." 
.  Nancy  gazing  into  the  fire  pondered.  "  It's  the 
spirit  of  the  age.  Perhaps  it  is  the  youth  in  you. 

289 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

I  wanted  to  go,  too.  But  oh,  my  dear,  how  I  wanted 
to  come  back  1 " 

There  was  silence  between  them,  then  Anne  said, 
"  Perhaps  if  I  could  have  my  one  little  fling  I'd  be 
content.  Perhaps  it  wouldn't  be  all  that  I  expected. 
But  I'd  like  to  try." 

On  Thursday  Anne  met  the  postman  as  he  drove 
up.  There  were  two  parcels  for  her.  One  was 
square  and  one  was  long  and  narrow.  There  were 
parcels  also  for  Nancy  and  Sulie.  Anne  delivered 
them,  and  took  her  own  treasures  to  her  room.  She 
shut  and  locked  her  door.  Then  she  stood  very  still 
in  the  middle  of  the  room.  Not  since  she  had  seen 
the  writing  on  the  long  and  narrow  parcel  had  her 
heart  ceased  to  beat  madly. 

When  at  last  she  sat  down  and  untied  the  string 
a  faint  fragrance  assailed  her  nostrils.  Then  the 
gay  box  with  its  purple  and  green  and  gold  was 
revealed  1 

The  little  fan  was  folded  about  with  many  thick- 
nesses of  soft  paper.  But  at  last  she  had  it  out,  the 
dear  lovely  thing  that  her  love  had  sent  1 

In  that  moment  all  the  barriers  which  she  had 
built  about  her  thoughts  of  Richard  were  beaten 
down  and  battered  by  his  remembrance  of  her. 
There  was  not  a  line  from  him,  not  a  word.  Noth- 
ing but  the  writing  on  the  wrapper,  and  the  memory 
of  their  talk  together  by  the  big  fire  at  Bower's  on 
the  night  of  Beulah's  party  when  he  had  said, 

290 


CHRISTMAS 

"  You  ought  to  have  a  little  fan — of — sandal  wood — 
with  purple  and  green  tassels  and  smelling  sweet." 

When  she  went  down  her  cheeks  were  red  with 
color.  "  How  pretty  you  are ! "  Sulie  said,  and 
kissed  her. 

Anne  showed  the  book  which  had  come  in  the 
square  parcel.  It  was  Geoffrey  Fox's  "  Three  Souls," 
and  it  was  dedicated  to  Anne. 

She  did  not  show  the  sandalwood  fan.  It  was 
hidden  in  her  desk.  She  had  a  feeling  that  Nancy 
and  Sulie  would  not  understand,  and  that  Richard 
had  not  meant  that  she  should  show  it. 

Nancy,  too,  had  something  which  she  did  not 
show.  One  of  her  letters  was  from  Dr.  Austin.  He 
had  written  without  Richard's  knowledge.  He 
wished  to  inquire  about  Anne  Warfield.  He  had 
been  much  impressed  by  what  Richard  had  said  of 
her.  He  needed  a  companion  for  his  daughter 
Marie-Louise.  He  wanted  a  lady,  and  Cynthia 
Warfield's  grandchild  would,  of  course,  be  that.  He 
wanted,  too,  some  one  who  was  fearless,  and  who 
thought  straight.  He  fancied  that  from  what  Rich- 
ard had  said  that  Anne  would  be  the  antidote  for 
his  daughter's  abnormality.  If  Nancy  would  con- 
firm Richard's  opinion,  he  would  write  at  once  to 
Miss  Warfield.  A  woman's  estimate  in  such  a  mat- 
ter would,  naturally,  be  more  satisfying.  He  would 
pay  well,  and  Anne  would  be  treated  in  every  way 
as  one  of  the  family.  Marie-Louise  might  at  first  be 

291 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

a  little  difficult.  But  in  the  end,  no  doubt,  she  would 
yield  to  tact  and  firmness. 

And  he  was  always  devotedly,  her  old  friend  ! 

It  had  seemed  to  Nancy  as  she  read  that  some- 
thing gripped  at  her  heart.  It  was  Anne's  presence 
which  had  kept  her  from  the  black  despair  of  loneli- 
ness. Sulie  was  good  and  true,  but  she  had  no 
power  to  fill  the  void  made  by  Richard's  absence. 
If  Anne  went  away,  they  would  be  two  old  women, 
gazing  blankly  into  an  empty  future. 

Yet  it  was  Anne's  opportunity.  The  opportunity 
which  her  soul  had  craved.  "To  see  new  things  and 
new  people."  And  she  was  young  and  wanting  much 
to  live.  It  would  not  be  right  or  fair  to  hold  her  back. 

She  had,  however,  laid  the  letter  aside.  When 
Richard  came  she  would  talk  it  over  with  him,  and 
then  they  could  talk  to  Anne.  She  tried  to  forget 
it  in  the  bustle  of  preparation,  but  it  lay  like  a 
shadow  in  the  back  of  her  mind,  dimming  the  bright- 
ness of  the  days. 

Everybody  was  busy.  Milly  and  Sulie  and  Nancy 
seeded  and  chopped  and  baked,  and  polished  silver, 
and  got  out  piles  of  linen,  and  made  up  beds,  and 
were  all  beautifully  ready  and  swept  and  garnished 
when  Uncle  Rodman  arrived  from  Carroll  and 
Brinsley  from  Baltimore. 

The  two  old  men  came  on  the  same  train,  and 
David  brought  them  over  from  Bower's  behind  big 
Ben.  By  the  time  they  reached  Crossroads,  they  had 

292 


CHRISTMAS 

dwelt  upon  old  times  and  old  friends  and  old  loves 
until  they  were  in  the  warm  and  genial  state  of  con- 
tent which  is  age's  recompense  for  the  loss  of  youth- 
ful ardors. 

They  were,  indeed,  three  ancient  Musketeers, 
who,  untouched  now  by  any  flame  of  great  emotion, 
might  adventure  safely  in  a  past  of  sentiment  from 
which  they  were  separated  by  long  years.  But 
there  had  been  a  time  when  passion  had  burned 
brightly  for  them  all,  even  in  gentle  David,  who  had 
loved  Cynthia  Warfield. 

What  wonder,  then,  if  to  these  three  Anne  typi- 
fied that  past,  and  all  it  meant  to  them,  as  she  ran 
to  meet  them  with  her  arms  outflung  to  welcome 
Uncle  Rod. 

She  had  them  all  presently  safe  on  the  hearth 
with  the  fire  roaring,  and  with  Milly  bringing  them 
hot  coffee,  and  Sulie  and  Nancy  smiling  in  an  ec- 
stasy of  welcome. 

"  It  is  perfect,"  Anne  said,  "  to  have  you  all  here 
—like  this." 

Yet  deep  in  her  heart  she  knew  that  it  was  not 
perfect.  For  youth  calls  to  youth.  And  Richard 
was  yet  to  come  ! 

Brinsley  had  brought  hampers  of  things  to  eat. 
He  had  made  epicurean  pilgrimages  to  the  Balti- 
more markets.  There  were  turkeys  and  ducks  and 
oysters — Smithfield  hams,  a  young  pig  with  an  apple 
in  its  mouth. 

293 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

He  superintended  the  unloading  of  the  hampers 
when  Eric  brought  them  over.  Uncle  Rod  shook 
his  head  as  he  saw  them  opened. 

"  I  can  make  a  jar  of  honey  and  a  handful  of  al- 
monds suffice,"  he  said.  "  I  am  not  keen  about 
butchered  birds  and  beasts." 

Brinsley  laughed.  "  Don't  rob  me  of  the  joy  of 
living,  Rod,"  he  said.  "  Nancy  is  bad  enough.  I 
wanted  to  send  up  some  wine.  But  she  wouldn't 
have  it.  Even  her  mince  pies  are  innocent.  Nancy 
sees  the  whole  world  through  eyes  of  anxiety  for 
her  boy.  I  don't  believe  she'd  care  a  snap  for  tem- 
perance if  she  wasn't  afraid  that  her  Dicky  might 
drink." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  the  individual  mother's  solicitude 
for  her  own  particular  child  which  makes  the  femi- 
nine influence  a  great  moral  force,"  Rodman  ven- 
tured. 

"  Perhaps,"  carelessly.  "  Now  Nancy  has  a  set  of 
wine-glasses  that  it  is  a  shame  not  to  use."  He 
slapped  his  hands  to  warm  them.  "  Let's  take  a 
long  walk,  Rod.  I  exercise  to  keep  the  fat  down." 

"  I  exercise  because  it  is  a  good  old  world  to  walk 
in,"  and  Rodman  swung  his  long  lean  legs  into  an 
easy  stride. 

They  picked  David  up  as  they  passed  his  little 
house.  They  climbed  the  hill  till  they  came  to  the 
edge  of  the  wood  where  David  had  cut  the  tree. 

There  was  a  sunset  over  the  frozen  river  as  they 
294 


CHRISTMAS 

turned  to  look  at  it.  The  river  sang  no  songs  to- 
day. It  was  as  still  and  silent  as  their  own  dead 
youth.  Yet  above  it  was  the  clear  gold  of  the  even- 
ing sky. 

"  The  last  time  we  came  we  were  boys,"  Brinsley 
said,  "  and  I  was  in  love  with  Cynthia  Warfield. 
And  we  were  both  in  love  with  her,  David  ;  do  you 
remember  ?  " 

David  did  remember.     "  Anne  is  like  her." 

Rodman  protested.  "  She  is  and  she  isn't.  Anne 
has  none  of  Cynthia's  faults." 

Brinsley  chuckled.     "  I'll  bet  you've  spoiled  her." 

"  No,  I  haven't.  But  Anne  has  had  to  work  and 
wait  for  things,  and  it  hasn't  hurt  her." 

"She's  a  beauty,"  Brinsley  stated,  "and  she 
ought  to  be  a  belle." 

"  She's  good,"  David  supplemented  ;  "  the  chil- 
dren at  the  little  school  worship  her." 

"  She's  mine,"  Uncle  Rod  straightened  his  shoul- 
ders, "  and  in  that  knowledge  I  envy  no  man  any- 
thing." 

As  they  sat  late  that  night  by  Nancy's  fire,  Anne 
in  a  white  frock  played  for  them,  and  sang : 

"  I  think  she  was  the  most  beautiful  lady 
That  ever  was  in  the  West  Country, 
But  beauty  vanishes,  beauty  passes, 
However  rare,  rare  it  be, 
And  when  I  am  gone,  who  shall  remember 
That  lady  of  the  West  Country  ?  " 

295 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

And  when  she  sang  it  was  of  Cynthia  Warfield  that 
all  of  the  Old  Gentlemen  dreamed. 

When  the  last  note  had  died  away,  she  went  over 
and  stood  behind  her  uncle.  She  was  little  and 
slim  and  straight  and  her  soft  hair  was  swept  up 
high  from  her  forehead.  Her  eyes  above  Uncle 
Rod's  head  met  Nancy's  eyes.  The  two  women 
smiled  at  each  other. 

"  To-morrow,"  Nancy  said,  and  she  seemed  to  say 
it  straight  to  Anne,  "  to-morrow  Richard  will  be 
here." 

Anne  caught  a  quick  breath.  "To-morrow,"  she 
said.  "  How  lovely  it  will  be  1 " 

But  Richard  did  not  come  on  Christmas  Eve.  A 
telegram  told  of  imperative  demands  on  him.  He 
would  get  there  in  the  morning. 

"  We  won't  light  the  tree  until  he  comes,"  was 
Nancy's  brave  decision.  "The  early  train  will  get 
him  here  in  time  for  breakfast." 

David  drove  big  Ben  down  to  meet  him.  Milly 
cooked  a  mammoth  breakfast.  Anne  slipped  across 
the  road  to  the  Crossroads  school  to  ring  the  bell  for 
the  young  master's  return.  The  rest  of  the  house- 
hold waited  in  the  library.  Brinsley  was  there  with 
a  story  to  tell,  but  no  one  listened.  Their  ears  were 
strained  to  catch  the  first  sharp  sound  of  big  Ben's 
trot.  Sulie  was  there  with  a  red  rose  in  her  hair  to 
match  the  fires  which  were  warming  her  old  heart 
Nancy  was  there  at  the  window,  watching. 

296 


CHRISTMAS 

Then  the  telephone  rang.  Nancy  was  wanted. 
Long  distance. 

It  was  many  minutes  before  she  came  back.  Yet 
the  message  had  been  short.  She  had  hung  up  the 
receiver,  and  had  stood  in  the  hall  in  a  whirling 
world  of  darkness. 

Richard  was  not  coming. 

He  had  been  sorry.  Tender.  Her  own  sweet 
son.  Yet  he  had  seemed  to  think  that  business  was 
a  sufficient  excuse  for  breaking  her  heart.  Surely 
there  were  doctors  enough  in  that  octopus  of  a 
town  to  take  his  patients  off  of  his  hands.  And  she 
was  his  mother  and  wanted  him. 

She  had  a  sense  of  utter  rebellion.  She  wanted 
to  cry  out  to  the  world,  "  This  is  my  son,  for  whom 
I  have  sacrificed." 

And  now  the  bell  across  the  street  began  to  ring 
its  foolish  chime — Richard  was  not  coming,  ding, 
dong.  She  must  get  through  the  day  without  him, 
ding,  dong,  she  must  get  through  all  the  years ! 

When  she  faced  the  solicitous  group  in  the  library, 
only  her  whiteness  showed  what  she  was  feeling. 

"  Richard  is  detained  by — an  important — opera- 
tion. And  breakfast  is — waiting.  Sulie,  will  you 
call  Anne,  and  light  the  little  tree  ?  " 


297 


CHAPTER  XX 

In  Which  a  Dresden- China  Shepherdess  and  a  Country 
Mouse  Meet  on  Common  Ground. 

MARIE-LOUISE'S  room  at  Rose  Acres  was  all 
in  white  with  two  tall  candlesticks  to  light  it, 
and  a  silver  bowl  for  flowers.  It  was  by  means  of 
the  flowers  in  the  bowl  that  Marie-Louise  expressed 
her  moods.  There  were  days  when  scarlet  flowers 
flamed,  and  other  days  when  pale  roses  or  violets  or 
lilies  suggested  a  less  exotic  state  of  mind. 

On  the  day  when  Anne  Warfield  arrived,  the 
flowers  in  the  bowl  were  yellow.  Marie-Louise 
stayed  in  bed  all  of  the  morning.  She  had  ordered 
the  flowers  sent  up  from  the  hothouse,  and,  drag- 
ging a  length  of  silken  dressing-gown  behind  her, 
she  had  arranged  them.  Then  she  had  had  her 
breakfast  on  a  tray. 

Her  hair  was  nicely  combed  under  a  lace  cap ;  the 
dressing-gown  was  faint  blue.  In  the  center  of  the 
big  bed  she  looked  very  small  but  very  elegant,  as 
if  a  Dresden-China  Shepherdess  had  been  put  be- 
tween the  covers. 

She  had  told  her  maid  that  when  Anne  arrived 
she  was  to  be  shown  up  at  once.  Austin  had  sug- 

298 


COMMON  GROUND 

gested  that  Marie-Louise  go  down-town  to  meet  her. 
But  Marie-Louise  had  refused. 

"  I  don't  want  to  see  her.     Why  should  I  ?  " 

"  She  is  very  charming,  Marie-Louise." 

"  Who  told  you  ?  " 

"  Dr.  Brooks.     And  I  knew  her  grandmother." 

"  Will  Dr.  Dicky  meet  her  ?  " 

"  Yes.  And  bring  her  out.  I  have  given  him  the 
day." 

"  You  might  have  asked  me  if  I  wanted  her,  Dad. 
I  don't  want  anybody  to  look  after  me.  I  belong  to 
myself." 

"  I  don't  know  to  whom  you  belong,  Marie-Louise. 
You're  a  changeling." 

"I'm  not  I'm  your  child.  But  you  don't  like 
my  horns  and  hoofs." 

He  gazed  at  her  aghast.     "  My  dear  child  1 " 

She  began  to  sob.  "I  am  not  your  dear  child. 
But  I  am  your  child,  and  I  shall  hate  to  have  some- 
body tagging  around." 

"  Miss  Warfield  is  not  to  tag.    And  you'll  like  her." 

"  I  shall  hate  her,"  said  Marie-Louise,  between  her 
teeth. 

It  was  because  of  this  hatred  that  she  had  filled 
her  bowl  with  yellow  flowers.  Yellow  meant  jeal- 
ousy. And  she  had  shrewdly  analyzed  her  state  of 
mind.  She  was  jealous  of  Anne  because  Dad  and 
Dr.  Richard  and  everybody  else  thought  that  Anne 
was  going  to  set  her  a  good  example. 

299 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

It  was  early  in  January  that  Anne  came.  The 
whole  thing  had  been  hurried.  Austin  had  been 
peremptory  in  his  demand  that  she  should  not  delay. 
So  Nancy,  very  white  but  smiling,  had  packed 
her  off.  Sulie  had  cried  over  her,  and  Uncle  Rod 
had  wished  her  "  Godspeed." 

Richard  met  her  at  the  station  in  the  midst  of  a 
raging  blizzard,  and  in  a  sort  of  dream  she  had 
been  whirled  with  him  through  the  gray  streets 
shut  in  by  the  veil  of  the  falling  snow.  They  had 
stopped  for  tea  at  a  big  hotel,  which  had  seemed 
as  they  entered  to  swim  in  a  sea  of  golden  light. 
And  now  here  she  was  at  last  in  this  palace  of  a 
house ! 

Therese  led  her  straight  to  Marie-Louise. 

The  Dresden-China  Shepherdess  in  bed  looked 
down  the  length  of  the  shadowed  room  to  the  door. 
The  figure  that  stood  on  the  threshold  was  some- 
how different  from  what  she  had  expected.  Smaller. 
More  girlish.  Lovelier. 

Anne,  making  her  way  across  a  sea  of  polished 
floor,  became  aware  of  the  Shepherdess  in  bed. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  "  I  am  sorry  you  are  ill." 

"  I  am  not  ill,"  said  Marie-Louise.  "  I  didn't  want 
you  to  come." 

Anne  smiled.  "  Oh,  but  if  you  knew  how  much 
I  wanted  to  come." 

Marie-Louise  sat  up.  "  What  made  you  want  to 
come  ?  " 

300 


COMMON  GROUND 

"  Because  I  am  a  country  mouse,  and  I  wanted 
to  see  the  world." 

"  Rose  Acres  isn't  the  world." 

"  New  York  is.  To  me.  There  is  so  much  that  I 
haven't  seen.  It  is  going  to  be  a  great  adventure." 

The  Dresden-China  Shepherdess  fell  down  flat. 
"  So  that's  what  you've  come  for,"  she  said,  dully, 
"  adventures — here." 

There  was  a  long  silence,  out  of  which  Anne 
asked,  "  How  many  miles  is  it  to  my  room?" 

"Miles?" 

"Yes.  You  see,  I  am  not  used  to  such  great 
houses." 

"  It  is  down  the  hall  in  the  west  wing." 

46  If  I  get  lost  it  will  be  my  first  adventure." 

Marie-Louise  turned  and  took  a  good  look  at  this 
girl  who  made  so  much  out  of  nothing.  Then  she 
said,  "  Therese  will  show  you.  And  you  can  dress 
at  once  for  dinner.  I  am  not  going  down." 

"  Please  do.     I  shall  hate  going  alone." 

"Why?" 

"  Well,  there's  your  father,  you  know,  and  your — 
mother.  And  I'm  a  country  mouse." 

Their  eyes  met.  Marie-Louise  had  a  sudden  feel- 
ing that  there  was  no  gulf  between  them  of  years  or 
of  authority. 

"  What  shall  I  call  you  ?  "  she  asked.  "  I  won't 
say  Miss  Warfield." 

"  Geoffrey  Fox  calls  me  Mistress  Anne." 
301 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

"  Who  is  Geoffrey  Fox  ?  " 

"  He  writes  books,  and  he  is  going  blind.  He 
wrote  '  Three  Souls.'  " 

Marie-Louise  stared.  "  Oh,  do  you  know  him  ? 
I  loved  his  book." 

"  Would  you  like  to  know  how  he  came  to  write 
it?" 

"  Yes.    Tell  me." 

"  Not  now.     I  must  go  and  dress." 

Some  instinct  told  Marie- Louise  that  argument 
would  be  useless. 

"  I'll  dress,  too,  and  come  down.  Is  Dr.  Dicky 
going  to  be  at  dinner?" 

"  No.  He  had  to  go  back  at  once.  He  is  very 
busy." 

Marie-Louise  slipped  out  of  bed.  "  Therese,"  she 
called,  "  come  and  dress  me,  after  you  have  shown 
Miss  Warfield  the  way." 

Anne  never  forgot  the  moment  of  entrance  into  the 
great  dining-room.  There  were  just  four  of  them. 
Dr.  Austin  and  his  wife,  herself  and  Marie-Louise. 
But  for  these  four  there  was  a  formality  transcending 
anything  in  Anne's  experience.  Carved  marble, 
tapestry,  liveried  servants,  a  massive  table  with  fruit 
piled  high  in  a  Sheffield  basket. 

The  people  were  dwarfed  by  the  room.  It  was  as 
if  the  house  had  been  built  for  giants,  and  had  been 
divorced  from  its  original  purpose.  Anne,  walking 
with  Marie-Louise,  wondered  whimsically  if  there 

302 


COMMON  GROUND 

were  any  ceilings  or  whether  the  roof  touched  the 
stars. 

Mrs.  Austin  was  supported  by  her  husband.  She 
was  a  little  woman  with  gray  hair.  She  wore  pearls 
and  silver.  Anne  was  in  white.  Marie-Louise  in 
a  quaint  frock  of  gold  brocade.  There  seemed  to 
be  no  color  in  the  room  except  the  gold  of  the  fire 
on  the  great  hearth,  the  gold  of  the  oranges  on  the 
table,  and  the  gold  of  Marie-Louise's  gown. 

Mrs.  Austin  was  pale  and  silent.  But  she  had 
attentive  eyes.  Anne  was  uncomfortably  possessed 
with  the  idea  that  the  little  lady  listened  and  criti- 
cized, or  at  least  that  she  held  her  opinion  in  reserve. 

Marie-Louise  spoke  of  Geoffrey  Fox.  "  Miss  War- 
field  knows  him.  She  knows  how  he  came  to  write 
his  book." 

Anne  told  them  how  he  came  to  write  it.  Of 
Peggy  ill  at  Bower's,  of  the  gray  plush  pussy  cat, 
and  of  how,  coming  up  the  hall  with  the  bowl  of 
soup  in  her  hand,  she  had  found  Fox  in  a  despairing 
mood  and  had  suggested  the  plot. 

Austin,  watching  her,  decided  that  she  was  most 
unusual.  She  was  beautiful,  but  there  was  some- 
thing more  than  beauty.  It  was  as  if  she  was  lighted 
from  within  by  a  fire  which  gave  warmth  not  only 
to  herself  but  to  those  about  her. 

He  was  glad  that  he  had  brought  her  here  to  be 
with  Marie-Louise.  For  the  moment  even  his  wife's 
pale  beauty  seemed  cold. 

303 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

"  We'll  have  Fox  up,"  he  said,  when  she  finished 
her  story. 

Anne  was  sure  that  he  would  be  glad  to  come. 
She  blushed  a  little  as  she  said  it. 

Later,  when  they  were  having  coffee  in  the  little 
drawing-room,  Marie-Louise  taxed  her  with  the 
blush.  "  Is  he  in  love  with  you  ?  " 

Anne  felt  it  best  to  be  frank.  "  He  thought  he 
was." 

"  Don't  you  love  him  ?  " 

"  No,  Marie-Louise.  And  we  mustn't  talk  about 
it.  Love  is  a  sacred  thing." 

"  I  like  to  talk  about  it.  In  summer  I  talk  to  Pan. 
But  he's  out  now  in  the  snow  and  his  pipes  are 
frozen." 

The  little  drawing-room  seemed  to  Anne  anything 
but  little  until  she  learned  that  there  was  a  larger 
one  across  the  hall.  Austin  and  his  wife  went  up- 
stairs as  soon  as  the  coffee  had  been  served,  and 
Marie-Louise  led  Anne  through  the  shadowy  vast- 
ness  of  the  great  drawing-room  to  a  window  which 
overlooked  the  river.  "  You  can't  see  the  river, 
but  the  light  over  the  doorway  shines  on  my  old 
Pan's  head.  You  can  see  him  grinning  out  of  the 
snow." 

The  effect  of  that  white  head  peering  from  the 
blackness  was  uncanny.  The  shaft  of  light  struck 
straight  across  the  peaked  chin  and  twisted  mouth. 
The  snow  had  made  him  a  cap  which  covered  his 

304 


COMMON  GROUND 

horns  and  which  gave  him  the  look  of  a  rakish  old 
tipster. 

"  Oh,  Marie-Louise,  do  you  talk  to  him  of  love  ?  " 

"Yes.  Wait  till  you  see  him  in  the  spring  with 
the  pink  roses  back  of  him.  He  seems  to  get 
younger  in  the  spring." 

Anne,  going  to  bed  that  night  in  a  suite  of  rooms 
which  might  have  belonged  to  a  princess,  wondered 
if  she  should  wake  in  the  morning  and  find  herself 
dreaming.  To  have  her  own  bath,  a  silk  canopy 
over  her  head,  to  know  that  breakfast  would  be 
served  when  she  rang  for  it,  and  that  her  mail  and 
newspapers  would  be  brought — these  were  unbeliev- 
able things.  She  had  a  feeling  that  if  she  told  Uncle 
Rod  he  would  shake  his  head  over  it.  He  had  a 
theory  that  luxury  tended  to  cramp  the  soul. 

Yet  her  last  thought  was  not  of  Uncle  Rod  but  of 
Richard.  She  had  come  intending  to  give  him  a 
sharp  opinion  of  his  neglect  of  Nancy.  But  he  had 
been  so  glad  to  see  her,  and  had  given  her  such  a 
good  time.  Yet  she  had  spoken  of  Nancy's  loneli- 
ness. 

"  I  hated  to  leave  her,"  she  said,  "  but  it  seemed 
as  if  I  had  to  come." 

"  Of  course,"  he  agreed,  with  his  eyes  on  her  glow- 
ing face,  "  and  anyhow,  she  has  Sulie." 

Marie-Louise,  in  the  days  that  followed,  found  in- 
terest and  occupation  in  showing  the  Country  Mouse 
the  sights  of  the  city. 

305 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

"  If  you  want  to  see  such  things,"  she  said  rather 
grandly,  "  I  shall  be  glad  to  go  with  you." 

Anne  insisted  that  they  should  not  be  driven  in 
state  and  style.  "  People  make  pilgrimages  on 
foot,"  she  told  Marie-Louise  gravely,  but  with  a 
twinkle  in  her  eye.  "  I  don't  want  to  whirl  up  to 
Grant's  tomb,  or  to  the  door  of  Trinity.  And  I  like 
the  subway  and  the  elevated  and  the  surface  cars." 

If  now  and  then  they  compromised  on  a  taxi,  it 
was  because  distances  were  too  great  at  times,  and 
other  means  of  transportation  too  slow.  But  in  the 
main  they  stuck  to  their  original  plan,  and  Marie- 
Louise  entered  a  new  world. 

"  Oh,  I  love  you  for  it,"  she  said  to  Anne  one 
night  when  they  came  home  from  the  Battery  after 
a  day  in  which  they  had  gazed  down  into  the  pit  of 
the  Stock  Exchange,  had  lunched  at  Faunce's  Tav- 
ern, had  circled  the  great  Aquarium,  and  ended  with 
a  ride  on  top  of  a  Fifth  Avenue  'bus  in  the  twilight. 

It  was  from  the  top  of  the  'bus  that  Anne  for  the 
first  time  since  she  had  come  to  New  York  saw 
Evelyn  Chesley. 

She  was  coming  out  of  a  shop  with  Richard.  It 
was  a  great  shop  with  a  world-famous  name  over 
the  door.  One  bought  furniture  there  of  a  rare  kind 
and  draperies  of  a  rare  kind  and  now  and  then  a 
picture. 

"They  are  getting  things  for  their  apartment," 
Marie-Louise  explained,  and  her  words  struck  cold 

306 


COMMON  GROUND 

against  Anne's  heart.  "  Eve  is  paying  for  them 
with  Aunt  Maude's  money." 

"  When  will  they  be  married  ?  " 

"  Next  October.  But  Eve  is  buying  things  as  she 
sees  them.  I  don't  want  her  to  marry  Dr.  Dicky." 

"  Why  not,  Marie-Louise  ?  " 

"He  isn't  her  kind.  He  ought  to  have  fallen  in 
love  with  you." 

"  Marie-Louise,  I  told  you  not  to  talk  of  love." 

"  I  shall  talk  of  anything  I  please." 

"Then  you'll  talk  to  the  empty  air.  I  won't 
listen.  I'll  go  up  there  and  sit  with  that  fat  man  in 
front." 

Marie-Louise  laughed.  "You're  such  an  old 
dear.  Do  you  know  how  nice  you  look  in  those 
furs  ?  " 

"  I  feel  so  elegant  that  I  am  ashamed  of  myself. 
I've  peeped  into  every  mirror.  They  cost  a  whole 
month's  salary,  Marie-Louise.  I  feel  horribly  ex- 
travagant— and  happy." 

They  laughed  together,  and  it  was  then  that 
Marie-Louise  said,  "  I  love  it." 

"  Love  what  ?  " 

"  Going  with  you  and  being  young." 

In  the  days  that  followed  Anne  found  herself 
revelling  in  the  elegances  of  her  life,  in  the  excite- 
ments. It  was  something  of  an  experience  to  meet 
Evelyn  Chesley  on  equal  grounds  in  the  little  draw- 
ing-room. Anne  always  took  Mrs.  Austin's  place 

3°7 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

when  there  were  gatherings  of  young  folks.  Marie- 
Louise  refused  to  be  tied,  and  came  and  went  as  the 
spirit  moved  her.  So  it  was  Anne  who  in  something 
shimmering  and  silken  moved  among  the  tea  guests, 
and  danced  later  in  slippers  as  shining  as  anything 
Eve  had  ever  worn. 

It  was  on  this  day  that  Geoffrey  Fox  came  and 
met  Marie-Louise  for  the  first  time. 

"  I  can't  dance,"  he  told  her ;  "  my  eyes  are  bad, 
and  things  seem  to  whirl." 

"  If  you'll  talk,"  she  said,  "  I'll  sit  at  your  feet  and 
listen." 

She  did  it  literally,  perched  on  a  small  gold  stool. 

"Tell  me  about  your  book,"  she  said,  looking  up 
at  him.  "Anne  Warfield  says  that  you  wrote  it  at 
Bower's." 

"  I  wrote  it  because  she  helped  me  to  write  it. 
But  she  did  more  for  me  than  that."  His  eyes  were 
following  the  shining  figure. 

"What  did  she  do?" 

"  She  gave  me  a  soul.  She  taught  me  that  there 
was  something  in  me  that  was  not — the  flesh  and 
the — devil." 

The  girl  on  the  footstool  understood.  "  She  be- 
lieves in  things,  and  makes  you  believe." 

"  Yes." 

"  I  hated  to  have  her  come,"  Marie- Louise  con- 
fessed, "and  now  I  should  hate  to  have  her  go 
away.  She  calls  herself  a  country  mouse,  and  I  am 

308 


COMMON  GROUND 

showing  her  the  sights — we  go  to  corking  places — 
on  pilgrimages.  We  went  to  Grant's  tomb,  and  she 
made  me  carry  a  wreath.  And  we  ride  in  the  sub- 
way and  drink  hot  chocolate  in  drug  stores. 

"  She  says  I  haven't  learned  the  big  lessons  of 
democracy,"  Marie- Louise  pursued,  "  that  I've  looked 
out  over  the  world,  but  that  I  have  never  been  a 
part  of  it.  That  I've  sat  on  a  tower  in  a  garden  and 
have  peered  through  a  telescope." 

She  told  him  of  the  play  that  she  had  written,  and 
of  the  verses  that  she  had  read  to  the  piping  Pan. 

Later  she  pointed  out  Pan  to  him  from  the  window 
of  the  big  drawing-room.  The  snow  had  melted  in 
the  last  mild  days,  and  there  was  an  icicle  on  his 
nose,  and  the  sun  from  across  the  river  reddened  his 
cheeks. 

"And  there,  everlastingly,  he  makes  music," 
Geoffrey  said,  " '  on  the  reed  which  he  tore  from 
the  river.' " 

"  '  Yes,  half  a  beast  is  the  great  god,  Pan, 
To  laugh  as  he  sits  by  the  river, 
Making  a  poet  out  of  a  man. 
The  true  gods  sigh  for  the  cost  and  pain, 
For  the  reed  that  grows  nevermore  again, 
As  a  reed  with  the  reeds  in  the  river.'  " 

His  voice  died  away  into  silence.  "  That  is  the 
price  which  the  writer  pays.  He  is  separated,  as  it 
were,  from  his  kind." 

"  Oh,  no,"  Marie-Louise  breathed,  "  oh,  no.  Not 
309 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

you.  Your  writings  bring  you — close.  Your  book 
made  me — cry." 

She  was  such  a  child  as  she  stood  there,  yet  with 
something  in  her,  too,  of  womanliness. 

"  When  your  three  soldiers  died,"  she  said,  "  it 
made  me  believe  something  that  I  hadn't  believed 
before — about  souls  marching  toward  a  great — 
light." 

Geoffrey  found  himself  confiding  in  her.  "  I  don't 
know  whether  you  will  understand.  But  ever  since 
I  wrote  that  book  I  have  felt  that  I  must  live  up  to 
it.  That  I  must  be  worthy  of  the  thing  I  had  writ- 
ten." 

Richard,  dancing  in  the  music  room  with  Anne, 
found  himself  saying,  "  How  different  it  all  is." 

"  From  Bower's  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"Do  you  like  it?" 

"Sometimes.  And  then  sometimes  it  all  seems 
so  big — and  useless." 

The  music  stopped,  and  they  made  their  way  back 
to  the  little  drawing-room. 

"Won't  you  sit  here  and  talk  to  me?"  Richard 
said.  "  Somehow  we  never  seem  to  find  time  to 
talk." 

She  smiled.     "  There  is  always  so  much  to  do." 

But  she  knew  that  it  was  not  the  things  to  be  done 
which  had  kept  her  from  him.  It  was  rather  a  sense 
that  safety  lay  in  seeing  as  little  of  him  as  possible. 

310 


COMMON  GROUND 

And  so,  throughout  the  winter  she  had  built  about 
herself  barriers  of  reserve.  Yet  there  had  never  been 
a  moment  when  he  had  dined  with  them,  or  when 
he  had  danced,  or  when  he  had  shared  their  box  at 
the  opera,  that  she  had  not  been  keenly  conscious  of 
his  presence. 

"  And  so  you  think  it  is  all  so  big — and  useless?" 
He  picked  up  the  conversation  where  they  had 
dropped  it  when  the  dance  stopped. 

She  nodded.  "  A  house  like  this  isn't  a  home.  I 
told  Marie-Louise  the  other  day  that  a  home  was  a 
place  where  there  was  a  little  fire,  with  somebody 
on  each  side  of  it,  and  where  there  was  a  little  table 
with  two  people  smiling  across  it,  and  with  a  pot 
boiling  and  a  woman  to  stir  it,  and  with  a  light  in 
the  window  and  a  man  coming  home." 

"  And  what  did  Marie-Louise  say  to  that  ?  " 

"  She  wrote  a  poem  about  it.  A  nice  healthy 
sane  little  poem — not  one  of  those  dreadful  things 
about  the  ashes  of  dead  women  which  I  found  her 
doing  when  I  came." 

"  How  did  you  cure  her  ?  " 

"  I  am  giving  her  real  things  to  think  of.  When 
she  gets  in  a  morbid  mood  I  whisk  her  off  to  the 
gardener's  cottage,  and  we  wash  and  dress  the  baby 
and  take  him  for  an  airing." 

Richard  gave  a  big  laugh.  "  With  your  head  in 
the  stars,  you  have  your  feet  always  firmly  on  the 
ground." 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

"  I  try  to,  but  I  like  to  know  that  there  are  always 
— stars." 

"  No  one  could  be  near  you  and  not  know  that," 
he  told  her  gravely. 

It  was  a  danger  signal.  She  rose.  "  I  have  a 
feeling  that  you  are  neglecting  somebody.  You 
haven't  danced  yet  with  Miss  Chesley." 

"  Oh,  Eve's  all  right,"  easily  ;  "  sit  down." 

But  she  would  not.  She  sent  him  from  her.  His 
place  was  by  Eve's  side.  He  was  going  to  marry  Eve. 

It  was  late  that  night  when  Marie-Louise  came 
into  Anne's  room.  "Are  you  asleep?"  she  asked, 
with  the  door  at  a  crack. 

"No." 

"  Will  you  mind— if  I  talk  ? " 

"  No." 

Anne  was  in  front  of  her  open  fire,  writing  to 
Uncle  Rod.  The  fire  was  another  of  the  luxuries  in 
which  she  revelled.  It  was  such  a  wonder  of  a  fire- 
place, with  its  twinkling  brasses,  and  its  purring  logs. 
She  remembered  the  little  round  stove  in  her  room 
at  Bower's. 

Marie-Louise  had  come  to  talk  of  Geoffrey  Fox. 

"  I  adore  his  eye-glasses." 

"  Oh,  Marie-Louise — his  poor  eyes." 

"  He  isn't  poor,"  the  child  said,  passionately,  "  not 
even  his  eyes.  Milton  was  blind — and — and  there 
was  his  poetry." 

312 


COMMON  GROUND 

"  Dr.  Dicky  hopes  his  eyes  are  getting  better." 

"  He  says  they  are.  That  he  sees  things  now 
through  a  sort  of  silver  rain.  He  has  to  have  some 
one  write  for  him.  His  little  sister  Mimi  has  been 
doing  it,  but  she  is  going  to  be  married." 

"Mimi?" 

"  Yes.  He  found  out  that  she  had  a  lover,  and  so 
he  has  insisted.  And  then  he  will  be  left  alone." 

She  sat  gazing  into  the  fire,  a  small  humped-up 
figure  in  a  gorgeous  dressing-gown.  At  last  she 
said,  "  Why  didn't  you  love  him?" 

"  There  was  some  one  else,  Marie- Louise." 

Marie-Louise  drew  close  and  laid  her  red  head  on 
Anne's  knee.  "Some  one  that  you  are  going  to 
marry  ?  " 

Anne  shook  her  head.  "  Some  one  whom  I  shall 
never  marry.  He  loves — another  girl,  Marie-Lou- 
ise." 

"  Oh ! "  There  was  a  long  silence,  as  the  two 
of  them  gazed  into  the  fire.  Then  Marie-Louise 
reached  up  a  thin  little  hand  to  Anne's  warm  clasp. 
"That's  always  the  way,  isn't  it?  It  is  a  sort  of 
game,  with  Love  always  flitting  away  to — another 
girl." 


313 


CHAPTER  XXI 

In  Which  St.  Michael  Hears  a  Call. 

IT  was  in  April  that  Geoffrey  Fox  wrote  to  Anne. 
"  When  I  told  you  that  I  was  coming  back  to 
Bower's,  I  said  that  I  wanted  quiet  to  think  out  my 
new  book,  but  I  did  not  tell  you  that  I  fancied  I 
might  find  your  ghost  flitting  through  the  halls,  or 
on  the  road  to  the  schoolhouse.  I  felt  that  there 
might  linger  in  the  long  front  room  the  glowing 
spirit  of  the  little  girl  who  sat  by  the  fire  and  talked 
to  me  of  my  soldiers  and  their  souls. 

"And  what  I  thought  has  come  true.  You  are 
everywhere,  Mistress  Anne,  not  as  I  last  saw  you  at 
Rose  Acres  in  silken  attire,  but  fluttering  before  me 
in  your  frock  of  many  flounces,  carrying  your  star 
of  a  lantern  through  the  twilight  on  your  way  to 

Diogenes,  scolding   me  on  the  stairs !     What 

days,  what  hours !  And  always  you  were  the  little 
school-teacher,  showing  your  wayward  scholars  what 
to  do  with  life  ! 

"  Perhaps  I  have  done  with  it  less  than  you  ex- 
pected. But  at  least  I  have  done  more  with  it  than 
I  had  hoped.  I  am  lining  my  pockets  with  money, 
and  Mimi  has  a  chest  of  silver.  That  is  the  immedi- 
ate material  effect  of  the  sale  of  '  Three  Souls.'  But 


ST.   MICHAEL  HEARS  A  CALL 

there  is  more  than  the  material  effect.  The  letters 
which  I  get  from  the  people  who  have  read  the  book 
are  like  wine  to  my  soul.  To  think  that  I,  Geoffrey 
Fox,  who  have  frittered  and  frivoled,  should  have 
put  on  paper  things  which  have  burned  into  men's 
consciousness  and  have  made  them  better.  I  could 
never  have  done  it  except  for  you.  Yet  in  all  hu- 
mility I  can  say  that  I  have  done  it,  and  that  never 
while  life  lasts  shall  I  think  again  of  my  talent  as  a 
little  thing. 

"  For  it  is  a  great  thing,  Mistress  Anne,  to  have 
written  a  book.  In  all  of  my  pot-boiling  days  I 
would  never  have  believed  it.  A  plot  was  a  plot, 
and  presto,  the  thing  was  done !  The  world  read 
and  forgot.  But  the  world  doesn't  forget.  Not 
when  we  give  our  best,  and  when  we  aim  to  get 
below  the  surface  things  and  the  shallow  things  and 
call  up  out  of  men's  hearts  that  which,  in  these  prac- 
tical days,  they  try  to  hide. 

"  I  suppose  Brooks  has  told  you  about  my  eyes, 
and  of  how  it  may  happen  that  I  shall,  for  the  rest 
of  my  life,  be  able  to  see  through  a  glass  darkly. 

"That  is  something  to  be  thankful  for,  isn't  it? 
It  is  a  rather  weird  experience  when,  having  adjusted 
one's  self  in  anticipation  of  a  catastrophe,  the  catas- 
trophe hangs  fire.  Like  old  Pepys,  I  had  resigned 
myself  to  the  inevitable — indeed  in  those  awful  wait- 
ing days  I  read,  more  than  once,  the  last  paragraph 
of  his  diary. 

315 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

"  '  And  so  I  betake  myself  to  that  course  which  it  is 
almost  as  much  as  to  see  myself  go  into  my  grave  ; 
for  which,  and  all  the  discomforts  that  will  accom- 
pany my  being  blind,  the  good  God  prepare  me  ! ' 

"  Yet  Pepys  kept  his  sight  all  the  rest  of  his  life, 
and  regretted,  I  fancy,  more  than  once,  that  he  did 
not  finish  his  diary.  And,  perhaps,  I,  too,  shall  be 
granted  this  dim  vision  until  the  end. 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  there  are  many  things  which 
I  ought  to  tell  you — I  know  there  are  a  thousand 
things  which  are  forbidden.  But  at  least  I  can  speak 
of  Diogenes.  I  saw  him  at  Crossroads  the  other 
day,  much  puffed  up  with  pride  of  family.  And  I 
can  speak  of  Mrs.  Nancy,  who  is  a  white  shadow  of 
herself.  Why  doesn't  Brooks  see  it  ?  He  was  down 
here  for  a  week  recently,  and  he  didn't  seem  to 
realize  that  anything  was  wrong.  Perhaps  she  is 
always  so  radiant  when  he  comes  that  she  dazzles 
his  eyes. 

"  She  and  Miss  Sulie  are  a  pathetic  pair.  I  meet 
them  on  the  road  on  their  errands  of  mercy.  They 
are  like  two  sisters  of  charity  in  their  long  capes  and 
little  bonnets.  Evidently  Mrs.  Brooks  feels  that  if 
her  son  cannot  doctor  the  community  she  can  at 
least  nurse  it.  The  country  folks  adore  her,  and  go 
to  her  for  advice,  so  that  Crossroads  still  opens  wide 
its  doors  to  the  people,  as  it  did  in  the  days  of  old 
Dr.  Brooks. 

"  And  now,  does  the  Princess  still  serve  ?     I  can 


ST.  MICHAEL  HEARS  A  CALL 

see  you  with  your  blue  bowl  on  your  way  to  Peggy, 
and  stopping  on  the  stairs  to  light  for  me  the  torch 
of  inspiration.  And  now  all  of  this  service  and  in- 
spiration is  being  spilled  at  the  feet  of — Marie-Louise  ! 
Will  you  give  her  greetings,  and  ask  her  how  soon  I 
may  come  and  worship  at  the  shrine  of  her  grinning 
old  god?" 

Anne,  carrying  his  letter  to  Marie-Louise,  asked, 
"  Shall  I  tell  him  to  come?" 

"  Yes.  I  didn't  want  him  to  go  away,  but  he  said 
he  must — that  he  couldn't  write  here.  But  I  knew 
why  he  went,  and  you  knew." 

"  You  needn't  look  at  me  so  reproachfully,  Marie- 
Louise.  It  isn't  my  fault.' 

"  It  is  your  fault,"  Marie-Louise  accused  her,  "  for 
being  like  a  flame.  Father  says  that  people  hold 
out  their  hands  to  you  as  they  do  to  a  fire." 

"  And  what,"  Anne  demanded,  "  has  all  this  to  do 
with  Geoffrey  Fox?" 

"You  know,"  Marie-Louise  told  her  bluntly,  "he 
loves  you  and  looks  up  to  you — and  I — sit  at  his 
feet." 

There  was  something  of  tenseness  in  the  small  face 
framed  by  the  red  hair.  Anne  touched  Marie- 
Louise's  cheek  with  a  tender  finger.  "  Dear  heart," 
she  said,  "  he  is  just  a  man." 

For  a  moment  the  child  stood  very  still,  then  she 
said,  "  Is  he  ?  Or  is  he  a  god,  like  my  Pan  in  the 
garden  ?  " 

317 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

Later  she  decided  that  Geoffrey  should  come  in 
May.  "  When  there  are  roses.  And  I'll  have  some 
people  out." 

It  was  in  May  that  Rose  Acres  justified  its  name. 
The  marble  Pan  piping  on  his  reeds  faced  a  garden 
abloom  with  beauty.  At  the  right,  a  grass  walk  led 
down  to  a  sunken  fountain  approached  by  wide  stone 
steps. 

It  was  on  these  steps  that  Marie-Louise  sat  one 
morning,  weaving  a  garland. 

"  I  am  going  to  tie  it  with  gold  ribbon,"  she  said. 
"  Tibbs  got  the  laurel  for  me." 

"Who  is  it  for?" 

"  It  may  be  for — Pan,"  Marie-Louise  wore  an  air 
of  mystery,  "  and  it  may  not." 

She  stuck  it  later  on  Pan's  head,  but  the  effect  did 
not  please  her.  "You  are  nothing  but  a  grinning 
old  marble  doll,"  she  told  him,  and  Anne  laughed  at 
her. 

"  I  hoped  some  day  you'd  find  that  out." 

Richard,  arriving  late  that  afternoon,  found  Mrs. 
Austin  on  the  terrace.  "The  young  people  are  in 
the  garden,"  she  said  ;  "  will  you  hunt  them  up  ?  " 

"  I  want  to  talk  to  Dr.  Austin,  if  I  may." 

"  He's  in  the  house.  He  was  called  to  the  tele- 
phone." 

Austin,  coming  out,  found  his  young  assistant  on 
the  portico. 


ST.  MICHAEL  HEARS  A  CALL 

"Can  you  give  me  a  second,  sir?  I've  a  letter 
from  mother.  There's  a  lot  of  sickness  at  Cross- 
roads. And  I  feel  responsible." 

"  Why  should  you  feel  responsible  ?  " 

"  It's  the  water  supply.  Typhoid.  If  I  had  been 
there  I  should  have  had  it  looked  into.  I  had  started 
an  investigation  but  there  was  no  one  to  push  it. 
And  now  there  are  a  dozen  cases.  Eric  Brand's  lit- 
tle wife,  Beulah,  and  old  Peter  Bovver,  and  the  mother 
of  little  Frangois." 

"And  you  are  thinking  that  you  ought  to  go 
down?" 

"Yes." 

"  I  don't  see  how  I  can  let  you  go.  It  doesn't 
make  much  difference  where  people  are  sick,  Brooks, 
there's  always  so  much  for  us  doctors  to  do." 

"  But  if  I  could  be  spared " 

"  You  can't,  Brooks.  I  am  sorry.  But  I've  learned 
to  depend  on  you." 

The  older  man  laid  his  hand  affectionately  on  the 
shoulder  of  the  younger.  If  for  the  moment  Richard 
felt  beneath  the  softness  of  that  touch  the  iron  glove 
of  one  who  expected  obedience  from  a  subordinate, 
he  did  not  show  it  by  word  or  glance. 

They  talked  of  other  things  after  that,  and  pres- 
ently Richard  wandered  off  to  find  Eve.  He  passed 
beyond  the  terraces  to  the  garden.  He  felt  tired  and 
depressed.  The  fragrance  of  the  roses  was  heavy 
and  almost  overpowering.  There  was  a  stone  bench 

3*9 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

set  in  the  midst  of  a  tangle  of  bloom.  He  sank  down 
on  it,  asking  nothing  better  than  to  sit  there  alone 
and  think  it  out. 

He  felt  at  this  moment,  strongly,  what  had  come 
to  him  many  times  during  the  winter — that  he  was 
not  in  any  sense  his  own  master.  Austin  directed, 
controlled,  commanded.  For  the  opportunity  which 
he  had  given  young  Brooks  he  expected  the  return 
of  acquiescence.  Thus  it  happened  that  Richard 
found  less  of  big  things  and  more  of  little  ones  in  his 
life  than  he  had  anticipated.  There  had  been  times 
when  the  moral  side  of  a  case  had  appealed  to  him 
more  than  the  medical,  when  he  had  been  moved  by 
generosities  such  as  had  moved  his  grandfather, 
when  he  had  wanted  to  be  human  rather  than  pro- 
fessional, and  always  he  had  found  Austin  blocking 
his  idealistic  impulses,  scoffing  at  the  things  he  had 
valued,  imposing  upon  him  a  somewhat  hard  philos- 
ophy in  the  place  of  a  living  faith.  It  seemed  to 
Richard  that  in  his  profession,  as  well  as  in  his  love 
affair,  he  was  no  longer  meeting  life  with  a  direct 
glance. 

He  rose  and  went  on.  He  must  find  Eve.  He 
had  promised  and  yet  in  that  moment  he  knew  that 
he  did  not  want  to  see  her.  He  wanted  his  mother's 
touch,  her  understanding,  her  love.  He  wanted 
Crossroads  and  big  Ben — and  the  people  who, 
because  of  his  grandfather,  had  called  him — 
"friend." 

320 


HER  RED  HAIR  CAUGHT  THE  SUNLIGHT 


ST.  MICHAEL  HEARS  A  CALL 

He  found  Anne  and  Geoffrey  and  Marie-Louise 
by  the  fountain  at  the  end  of  the  grass  walk.  Marie" 
Louise  perched  on  the  rim  was,  in  her  pale  green 
gown,  like  some  nymph  freshly  risen.  Her  hat  was 
off,  and  her  red  hair  caught  the  sunlight. 

Anne  was  reading  the  first  chapter  of  Geoffrey's 
new  book.  He  sat  just  above  her  on  the  steps  of 
the  fountain.  His  glasses  were  off,  and  as  he  looked 
down  at  her  his  eyes  showed  a  brilliancy  which 
seemed  to  contradict  his  failing  sight. 

Marie-Louise  held  up  a  warning  finger.  "  Sit 
down,"  she  said,  "  and  listen.  It  is  such  a  wonder- 
book,  Dr.  Dicky." 

So  Richard  sat  down  and  Anne  went  on  reading. 
She  read  well ;  her  voice  had  a  thrilling  quality,  and 
once  it  broke. 

"  Oh,  why  did  you  make  it  so  sad  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Could  I  make  it  glad  ? "  he  asked,  and  to 
Richard,  watching,  there  came  the  jealous  certainty 
that  between  the  two  of  them  there  was  some  subtle 
understanding. 

When  at  last  Anne  had  read  all  that  he  had 
written  Marie-Louise  said,  importantly,  "  Anne  is 
the  heroine,  the  Princess  who  serves.  Will  you  ever 
make  me  the  heroine  of  a  book,  Geoffrey  Fox  ?  " 

"  Perhaps.     Give  me  a  plot  ?  " 

"  Have  a  girl  who  loves  a  marble  god — then  some 
day  she  meets  a  man — and  the  god  is  afraid  he  will 
lose  her,  so  he  wakes  to  life  and  says,  '  If  you  love 

321 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

this  man,  you  will  have  to  accept  the  common  lot  of 
women,  you  will  have  to  work  for  him  and  obey  him 
— and  some  day  he  will  die  and  your  soul  will  be 
rent  with  sorrow.  But  if  you  love  me,  I  shall  be 
here  when  you  are  forgotten,  and  while  you  live  my 
love  will  demand  nothing  but  the  verses  that  you 
read  to  me  and  the  roses  that  lay  at  my  feet.' " 

Geoffrey  gave  her  an  eager  glance.  "Jove, 
there's  more  in  that  than  a  joke.  Some  day  I  shall 
get  you  to  amplify  your  idea." 

"  I'll  give  it  to  you  if  you  promise  to  write  the 
book  here.  There's  a  balcony  room  that  overlooks 
the  river — and  nobody  would  ever  interrupt  you  but 
me,  and  I'd  only  come  when  you  wanted  me." 

Marie-Louise's  breath  was  short  as  she  finished. 
To  cover  her  emotion  she  caught  up  the  wreath 
which  she  had  made  in  the  morning,  and  which  lay 
beside  her. 

"  I  made  it  for  you,"  she  told  Geoffrey,  "  and  now 
that  I've  done  it,  I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  it." 

She  was  blushing  and  glowing,  less  of  an  imp 
and  more  of  a  girl  than  Richard  had  ever  seen  her. 

Geoffrey  rose  to  the  occasion.  "  It  shall  be  a 
mascot  for  my  new  book.  I'll  hang  it  on  the  wall 
over  my  desk,  and  every  time  I  look  up  at  it,  it  shall 
say  to  me,  '  These  are  the  laurels  you  are  to  win.' ' 

"  You  have  won  them,"  Marie-Louise  flashed. 

"No  artist  ever  feels  himself  worthy  of  laurel. 
His  achievement  always  falls  short  of  his  ambition  " 

322 


ST.  MICHAEL  HEARS  A  CALL 

"  But  '  Three  Souls,'  "  Marie- Louise  said  ;  "  surely 
you  were  satisfied  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  write  it — the  credit  belongs  to  Mistress 
Anne.  Your  wreath  should  be  hers." 

But  Marie-Louise's  mind  was  made  up.  Before 
Geoffrey  could  grasp  what  she  was  about  to  do,  she 
fluttered  up  the  steps,  and  dropped  the  garland 
lightly  on  his  dark  locks. 

It  became  him  well. 

"  Do  you  like  it?"  he  asked  Anne. 

"  To  the  Victor — the  spoils,"  she  told  him,  smil- 
ing. 

Richard  felt  out  of  it.  He  wanted  to  get  away, 
and  he  knew  that  he  must  find  Eve.  Eve,  who 
when  he  met  her  would  laugh  her  light  laugh,  and 
call  him  "  Dicky  Boy,"  and  refuse  to  listen  when  he 
spoke  of  Crossroads. 

The  path  that  he  took  led  to  a  little  tea  house 
built  on  the  bank,  which  gave  a  wide  view  of  the 
river  and  the  Jersey  hills.  He  found  Winifred  and 
Tony  side  by  side  and  silent. 

"  Better  late  than  never,"  was  Tony's  greeting. 

"  I  am  hunting  for  Eve." 

"  She  and  Meade  were  here  a  moment  ago," 
Winifred  informed  him.  "  Sit  down  and  give  an 
account  of  yourself.  We  haven't  seen  you  in  a 
million  years." 

"Just  a  week,  dear  lady.  I  have  been  horribly 
busy." 

323 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

"  You  say  that  as  if  you  meant  the  '  horribly.' ' 

"  I  do.  It  has  been  a  '  bluggy '  business,  and  I 
am  tired."  He  laughed  with  a  certain  amount  of 
constraint.  "  If  I  were  a  boy,  I  should  say  '  I  want 
to  go  home.' ' 

Winifred  gave  him  a  quick  glance.  "  What  has 
happened  ?  " 

"  Oh,  everybody  is  ill  at  Crossroads.  Beastly 
conditions.  And  they  ought  to  have  been  corrected. 
Beulah's  ill." 

"The  little  bride?" 

"Yes.  And  Eric  is  frantic.  He  has  written  me, 
asking  me  to  come  down.  But  Austin  can't  see  it." 

11  Could  you  go  for  the  day  ?  " 

"  If  I  went  for  a  day  I  should  stay  longer.  There's 
everything  to  be  done." 

He  switched  away  from  the  subject.  "  Crowd 
seems  to  have  separated.  Fox  and  Anne  Warfield 
by  the  fountain.  You  and  Tony  here,  and  Eve  and 
Pip  as  yet  undiscovered." 

"  It  is  the  day,"  Winifred  decided,  "  all  romance 
and  roses.  Even  Tony  and  I  were  a-lovering  when 
Eve  found  us." 

Richard  rose.  "Tony,  she  wants  to  hold  your 
hand.  I'll  get  out." 

Winifred  laughed.  "  You'd  better  go  and  hold 
Eve's." 

As  he  went  away,  Richard  wondered  if  there  was 
anything  significant  in  her  way  of  saying  it. 

324 


ST.  MICHAEL  HEARS  A  CALL 

Eve  and  Pip  were  in  the  enclosed  space  where 
Pan  gleamed  white  against  the  dark  cedars.  Eve 
was  seated  on  the  sun-dial.  Pip  had  lifted  her  there, 
and  he  stood  leaning  against  it.  Her  lap  was  full  of 
roses,  and  there  were  roses  on  her  hat.  The  high 
note  of  color  was  repeated  in  the  pink  sunshade 
which  lay  open  where  the  wind  had  wafted  it  to  the 
feet  of  the  piping  Pan. 

Pip  straightened  up  as  he  saw  Richard  approach- 
ing. "  There  comes  your  eager  lover,  Eve.  Give 
me  a  rose  before  he  gets  here." 

"No." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  I'm  afraid." 

"Of  me?" 

"No.  But  if  I  give  you  anything  you'll  take 
more.  And  I  want  to  give  everything  to — Dicky." 

He  laughed  a  triumphant  laugh.  "I  take  all  I 
can  get.  Give  me  a  rose,  Eve." 

She  yielded  to  his  masterfulness.  Out  of  the  mass 
of  bloom  she  chose  a  pink  bud.  "  I  shall  give  a  red 
one  to  Dicky,  so  don't  feel  puffed  up." 

"  I  told  you  I  should  take  what  I  could  get,  and 
Brooks  isn't  thinking  of  roses.  Look  at  his  face." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  be  so  late,  Eve,"  Richard  said,  as 
he  came  up.  "  I  am  always  apologizing,  it  seems 
to  me." 

"Little  Boy  Blue !  Dicky,  what's  the  mat- 
ter?" 

325 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

"  I  want  to  go  home."  He  tried  to  speak  lightly 
— to  follow  her  mood. 

"  Home — to  Crossroads  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"But  why?" 

"There's  typhoid,  and  they  don't  know  how  to 
cope  with  it" 

"  Aren't  there  other  doctors  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  not  enough." 

"  Nonsense ;  what  did  they  do  before  you  came  to 
the  county  ?  You  must  get  rid  of  the  feeling  that 
you  are  so — important."  She  was  angry.  Little 
sparks  were  in  her  eyes. 

"  Don't  worry,  Eve.  Austin  doesn't  want  me  to 
go.  I  can't  get  away.  But  it  is  on  my  mind." 

"  Put  it  off  and  come  and  help  me  with  my  roses. 
I  gave  Pip  a  bud.  Are  you  jealous,  Dicky  ?  " 

Still  trying  to  follow  her  mood,  he  said,  "You 
and  the  rest  of  the  roses  belong  to  me.  Why  should 
I  care  for  one  poor  bud  ?  " 

She  stuck  a  red  rose  in  his  coat,  and  when  she  had 
made  her  flowers  into  a  nosegay,  he  lifted  her  down 
from  the  sun-dial.  For  a  moment  she  clung  to  him. 
Meade  had  gone  to  rescue  the  sunshade  which  was 
blowing  down  the  slope,  and  for  the  moment  they 
were  alone.  "  Dicky,"  she  whispered,  "  I  was  hor- 
rid, but  you  mustn't  go." 

"  I  told  you  I  couldn't,  Eve." 

Then  Pip  came  back,  and  the  three  of  them  made 
326 


ST.  MICHAEL  HEARS  A  CALL 

their  way  to  the  fountain,  picking  up  Winifred  and 
Tony  as  they  passed.  Tea  was  served  on  the  terrace, 
and  a  lot  of  other  people  motored  out.  There  was 
much  laughter  and  lightness — as  if  there  were  no 
trouble  in  the  whole  wide  world. 

Richard  felt  separated  from  it  all  by  his  mood, 
and  when  he  went  to  the  house  to  send  a  message 
for  Austin  to  the  hospital,  he  did  not  at  once  return 
to  the  terrace.  He  sought  the  great  library.  It  was 
dim  and  quiet  and  he  lay  back  in  one  of  the  big 
chairs  and  shut  his  eyes.  The  vision  was  before 
him  of  Pip  leaning  oh  the  sun-dial  against  a  rose- 
splashed  background,  with  Eve  smiling  down  at 
him.  It  had  come  to  him  then  that  Pip  should  have 
married  Eve.  Pip  would  make  her  happy.  The 
thing  was  all  wrong  in  some  way,  but  he  could  not 
see  clearly  how  to  make  it  right. 

There  was  a  sound  in  the  room  and  he  opened  his 
eyes  to  find  Marie-Louise  on  the  ladder  which  gave 
access  to  the  shelves  of  the  great  bookcases  which 
lined  the  walls.  She  had  not  seen  him,  and  she 
was  singing  softly  to  herself.  In  the  dimness  the 
color  of  her  hair  and  gown  gave  a  stained-glass 
effect  against  a  background  of  high  square  east  win- 
dow. 

Richard  sat  up.     What  was  she  singing  ? 

"  I  think  she  was  the  most  beautiful  lady 
That  ever  was  in  the  West  Country, 
beauty  vanishes,  beauty  passes, 

327 


MISTRESS  4NNE 

However  rare,  rare  it  be. 

And  when  I  am  gout,  who  shall  remember 

That  lady  of  the  West  Country  ?  " 

"Marie-Louise,"  he  asked  so  suddenly  that  she 
nearly  fell  off  of  the  shelves,  "  where  did  you  learn 
that  song  ?  " 

"  From  Mistress  Anne." 

"  When  you  sing  it  do  you  think  of — her  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Do  you  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

Marie-Louise  sat  down  on  the  top  step  of  the  lad- 
der. "  Dr.  Dicky,  may  I  ask  a  question  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Why  didn't  you  fall  in  love  with  Anne  ?  " 

"  I  did." 

"  Oh  1     Then  why  didn't  you  marry  her  ?  " 

"  She  is  going  to  marry  Geoffrey  Fox." 

Dead  silence.     Then,  "  Did  she  tell  you?" 

"  No.     He  told  me.     Last  spring." 

"  Before  you  came  here  ?  " 

"  Yes.  That  was  the  reason  I  came.  I  wanted  to 
get  away  from  everything  that — spoke  of  her." 

Marie- Louise  slipped  down  from  the  ladder  and 
came  and  stood  beside  him.  "He  told  you,"  she 
said  in  a  sharp  whisper,  "  but  there  must  be  some 
mistake.  She  doesn't  love  him.  She  said  that  she 
didn't.  I  wonder  why  he  lied." 

There  was  nothing  cold  about  her  now.  She  was 
a  fiery  spark.  "  Only  a — cad  could  do  such  a  thing 

328 


ST.  MICHAEL  HEARS  A  CALL 

— and  I  thought — oh,  Dr.  Dicky,  I  thought  he  was 
a  man " 

She  flung  herself  at  his  feet  like  a  stricken  child. 
He  went  down  to  her.  "  Marie-Louise,  stop.  Sit 
up  and  tell  me  what's  the  matter." 

She  sat  up.  "  I  shall  ask  Anne.  I  shall  go  and 
get  her  and  ask  her." 

He  found  himself  calling  after  her,  "  Marie- Louise," 
but  she  was  gone. 

She  came  back  presently,  dragging  the  protest- 
ing Anne.  "  But  Marie- Louise,  what  do  you  want  of 
me?" 

Richard,  rising,  said,  "  Please  don't  think  I  per- 
mitted this.  I  tried  to  stop  her." 

"  I  didn't  want  to  be  stopped,"  Marie-Louise  told 
them.  "  I  want  to  know  whether  you  and  Geoffrey 
Fox  are  going  to  be  married." 

Anne's  cheeks  were  stained  red.  "  Of  course  not. 
But  it  isn't  anything  to  get  so  excited  about,  is  it, 
Marie-Louise  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is.  He  told  Dr.  Dicky  that  you  were,  and 
he  lied.  And  I  thought,  oh,  you  know  the  wonder- 
ful things  I  thought  about  him,  Mistress  Anne." 

Anne's  arm  went  around  the  sad  little  nymph  in 
green.  "You  must  still  think  wonderful  things  of 
him.  He  was  very  unhappy,  and  desperate  about 
his  eyes.  And  it  seemed  to  him  that  to  assert  a 
thing  might  make  it  come  true." 

"  But  you  didn't  love  him  ?  " 
329 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

"  Never,  Marie-Louise." 

And  now  Richard,  ignoring  the  presence  of  Marie- 
Louise,  ignoring  everything  but  the  question  which 
beat  against  his  heart,  demanded  : 

"  If  you  knew  that  he  had  told  me  this,  why  didn't 
you  make  things  clear  ?  " 

"  When  I  might  have  made  things  clear — you 
were  engaged  to  Eve." 

She  turned  abruptly  from  him  to  Marie-Louise. 
"  Run  back  to  your  poet,  dear  heart  He  is  waiting 
for  the  book  that  you  were  going  to  bring  him.  And 
remember  that  you  are  not  to  sit  in  judgment  You 
are  to  be  eyes  for  him,  and  light" 

It  was  a  sober  little  nymph  in  green  who  marched 
away  with  her  book.  Geoffrey  sat  on  the  stone 
bench  a  little  withdrawn  from  the  others.  His  lean 
face,  straining  toward  the  house,  relaxed  as  she 
came  within  his  line  of  vision. 

"  You  were  a  long  time  away,"  he  said,  and  made 
a  place  for  her  beside  him,  and  she  sat  down  and 
opened  her  book. 

And  now,  back  in  the  dim  library,  Anne  and 
Richard ! 

"  I  stayed,"  she  said,  "  because  they  were  speaking 
out  there  of  Crossroads.  I  have  had  a  letter,  too, 
from  Sulie.  She  says  that  the  situation  is  desperate." 

"Yes.  They  need  me.  And  I  ought  to  go. 
They  are  my  people.  I  feel  that  in  a  sense  I  belong 
to  them — as  my  grandfather  belonged." 

330 


ST.  MICHAEL  HEARS  A  CALL 

"  Do  you  mean  that  if  you  go  now  you  will 
stay?" 

"  I  am  not  sure.  The  future  must  take  care  of  it- 
self." 

"Your  mother  would  be  glad  if  your  decision 
finally  came  to  that." 

"Yes.  And  I  should  be  glad.  But  this  time  I 
shall  not  go  for  my  mother's  sake  alone.  Some- 
thing deeper  is  drawing  me.  I  can't  quite  analyze 
it.  It  is  a  call " — he  laughed  a  little — "  such  as  men 
describe  who  enter  the  ministry, — an  irresistible  im- 
pulse, as  if  I  were  to  find  something  there  that  I  had 
lost  in  the  city." 

She  held  out  her  hand  to  him.  "  Do  you  know 
the  name  I  had  for  you  when  you  were  at  Cross- 
roads?" 

"  No." 

"  I  called  you  St.  Michael — because  it  always 
seemed  to  me  that  you  carried  a  sword." 

He  tightened  his  grip  on  the  little  hand.  "  Some 
day  I  shall  hope  to  justify  the  name ;  I  don't  deserve 
it  now." 

Her  eyes  came  up  to  him.  "  You'll  fight  to  win," 
she  said,  softly. 

He  did  not  want  to  let  her  go.  But  there  was  no 
other  way.  But  when  she  had  joined  the  others  on 
the  terrace  he  made  a  wide  detour  of  the  garden, 
and  wandered  down  to  the  river. 

It  was  not  a  singing  river,  but  to-day  it  seemed  to 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

have  a  song,  "  Go  back,  go  back"  it  said  ;  "you  have 
seen  the  world,  you  have  seen  the  world." 

And   when  he  had  listened   for  a  little  while  he 
climbed  the  hill  to  tell  Austin  and  to  tell — Eve. 


332 


CHAPTER  XXII 

In  Which  Anne  Weighs  the  People  of  Two  Worlds. 

RICHARD!" 
"  Yes,  mother,  I'm  here.     Austin  thinks  I 
am   crazy,  and    Eve   won't   speak   to   me.     But — I 
came.     And  to  think  you  have  turned  the  house 
into  a  hospital ! " 

"It  seemed  the  only  thing  to  do.  Frangois* 
mother  had  no  one  to  take  care  of  her — and  there 
were  others,  and  the  house  is  big." 

"  You  are  the  biggest  thing  in  it.  Mother,  if  I 
ever  pray  to  a  saint,  it  will  be  one  with  gray  hair  in 
a  nurse's  cap  and  apron,  and  with  shining  eyes." 

"  They  are  shining  because  you  are  here,  Richard." 

Cousin  Sulie,  in  the  door,  broke  down  and  cried, 
"Oh,  we've  prayed  for  it." 

They  clung  to  him,  the  two  little  growing-old 
women,  who  had  wanted  him,  and  who  had  worked 
without  him. 

He  had  no  words  for  them,  for  he  could  not  speak 
with  steadiness.  But  in  that  moment  he  knew  that 
he  should  never  go  back  to  Austin.  That  he  should 
live  and  die  in  the  home  of  his  fathers.  And  that 
his  work  was  here. 

333 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

He  tried,  a  little  later,  to  make  a  joke  of  their  de- 
votion. "  Mother,  you  and  Cousin  Sulie  mustn't. 
I  shall  need  a  body-guard  to  protect  me.  You'll 
spoil  me  with  softness  and  ease." 

"  I  shall  buckle  on  your  armor  soon  enough,"  she 
told  him.  "  Did  Eric  meet  you  at  the  station  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  shall  go  straight  to  Beulah's.  I  stopped 
in  to  see  old  Peter  before  I  came  up.  I  can  pull  him 
through,  but  I  shall  have  to  have  some  nurses." 

And  now  big  Ben,  at  an  even  trot,  carried  Richard 
to  the  Playhouse.  Toby,  mad  with  gladness  at  the 
return  of  his  master,  raced  ahead. 

Up  in  the  pretty  pink  and  white  room  lay  Beulah. 
No  longer  plump  and  blooming,  but  wasted  and  wan 
with  dry  lips  and  hollow  eyes. 

Eric  had  said  to  Richard,  "  If  she  dies  I  shall 
die,  too." 

"  She  is  not  going  to  die." 

And  now  he  said  it  again,  cheerfully,  to  the  wasted 
figure  in  the  bed.  "  I  have  come  to  make  you  well, 
Beulah." 

But  Beulah  was  not  at  all  sure  that  she  wanted  to 
be — well.  She  was  too  tired.  She  was  tired  of  Eric, 
tired  of  her  mother,  tired  of  taking  medicine,  tired 
of  having  to  breathe. 

So  she  shut  her  eyes  and  turned  away. 

Eric  sat  by  the  bed.  "  Dear  heart,"  he  said,  "  it 
is  Dr.  Dicky." 

But  she  did  not  open  her  eyes. 

334 


PEOPLE  OF  TWO  WORLDS 

In  the  days  that  followed  Richard  fought  to  make 
his  words  come  true.  He  felt  that  if  Beulah  died  it 
would,  in  some  way,  be  his  fault.  He  was  aware 
that  this  was  a  morbid  state  of  mind,  but  he  could 
not  help  the  way  he  felt.  Beulah's  life  would  be  the 
price  of  his  self-respect. 

But  it  was  not  only  for  Beulah's  life  that  he  fought, 
but  for  the  lives  of  others.  He  had  nurses  up  from 
Baltimore  and  down  from  New  York.  He  had  ex- 
perts to  examine  wells  and  springs  and  other  sources 
of  water  supply.  He  had  a  motor  car  that  he  might 
cover  the  miles  quickly,  using  old  Ben  only  for  short 
distances.  Toby,  adapting  himself  to  the  car,  sat  on 
the  front  seat  with  the  wind  in  his  face,  drunk  with 
the  excitement  of  it. 

When  Nancy  spoke  of  the  expense  to  which  Rich- 
ard was  putting  himself,  he  said,  "  I  have  saved 
something,  mother,  and  Eric  and  the  rest  can  pay." 

Surely  in  those  days  St.  Michael  needed  his  sword, 
for  the  fight  was  to  the  finish.  Night  and  day  the 
battle  waged.  Richard  went  from  bedside  to  bed- 
side, coming  always  last  to  Beulah  in  the  shadowed 
pink  and  white  room  at  the  Playhouse. 

There  were  nurses  now,  but  Eric  Brand  would  not 
be  turned  out.  "  Every  minute  that  I  am  away  from 
her,"  he  told  Richard,  "  I'm  afraid.  It  seems  as  if 
when  I  am  in  sight  of  her  I  can  hold  her — back." 

So,  night  after  night,  Richard  found  him  in  the 
chair  by  Beulah's  bed,  his  face  shaded  by  his 

335 


MISTRESS  4NNE 

hand,  rousing  only  when  Beulah  stirred,  to  smile  at 
her. 

But  Beulah  did  not  smile  back.  She  moaned  a 
little  now  and  then,  and  sometimes  talked  of  things 
that  never  were  on  sea  or  land.  There  was  a  flow- 
ered chintz  screen  in  the  corner  of  the  room  and  she 
peopled  it  with  strange  creatures,  and  murmured  of 
them  now  and  then,  until  the  nurse  covered  the 
screen  with  a  white  sheet,  which  seemed  to  blot  it 
out  of  Beulah's  mind  forever. 

There  was  always  a  pot  of  coffee  boiling  in  the 
kitchen  for  the  young  doctor,  and  Eric  would  go 
down  with  him  and  they  would  drink  and  talk,  and 
all  that  Eric  said  led  back  to  Beulah. 

"  If  there  was  only  something  that  I  could  do  for 
her,"  he  said  ;  "  if  I  could  go  out  and  work  until  I 
dropped,  I  should  feel  as  if  I  were  helping.  But  just 
to  sit  there  and  see  her — fade." 

Again  he  said,  "  I  had  always  thought  of  our  liv- 
ing— never  of  dying.  There  can  be  no  future  for 
me  without  her." 

So  it  was  for  Eric's  future  as  well  as  for  Beulah's 
life  that  Richard  strove.  He  grew  worn  and  weary, 
but  he  never  gave  up. 

Night  after  night,  day  after  day,  from  house  to 
house  he  went,  along  the  two  roads  and  up  into  the 
hills.  Everywhere  he  met  an  anxious  welcome. 
Where  the  conditions  were  unfavorable,  he  trans- 
ferred the  patient  to  Crossroads,  where  Nancy  and 

336 


PEOPLE  OF  TWO  WORLDS 

Sulie  and  Milly  and  a  trio  of  nurses  formed  an  en- 
thusiastic hospital  staff. 

The  mother  of  little  Frangois  was  the  first  patient 
that  Richard  lost.  She  was  tired  and  overworked, 
and  she  felt  that  it  was  good  to  fall  asleep.  After- 
ward Richard,  with  the  little  boy  in  his  arms,  went 
out  and  sat  where  they  could  look  over  the  river 
and  talk  together. 

"  I  told  her  that  you  were  to  stay  with  me,  Fran- 
gois." 

"  And  she  was  glad  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  need  a  little  lad  in  my  office,  and  when 
I  take  the  car  you  can  ride  with  me." 

And  thus  it  came  about  that  little  Frangois,  a 
sober  little  Frangois,  with  a  band  of  black  about  his 
arm,  became  one  of  the  Crossroads  household,  and 
was  made  much  of  by  the  women,  even  by  black 
Milly,  who  baked  cookies  for  him  and  tarts  when- 
ever he  cried  for  his  mother. 

Cousin  Sulie  rose  nobly  to  meet  the  new  demands 
upon  her.  "  It  is  a  feeling  I  never  had  before,"  she 
said  to  Richard,  as  she  helped  him  pack  his  bag  be- 
fore going  on  his  rounds,  "  that  what  I  am  doing  is 
worth  while.  I  know  I  should  have  felt  it  when  I 
was  darning  stockings,  but  I  didn't." 

She  gloried  in  the  professional  aspect  which  she 
gave  to  everything.  She  installed  little  Frangois  at 
a  small  table  in  the  Garden  Room.  He  answered 
the  telephone  and  wrote  the  messages  on  slips  of 

337 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

paper  which  he  laid  on  the  doctor's  desk.  Cousin 
Sulie  at  another  table  saw  the  people  who  came  in 
Richard's  absence. 

"  Nancy  can  read  to  the  patients  up-stairs  and  cut 
flowers  for  them  and  cook  nice  things  for  them," 
she  confided,  "  but  I  like  to  be  down  here  when  the 
children  come  in  to  ask  for  medicine,  and  when  the 
mothers  come  to  find  out  what  they  shall  feed  the 
convalescents.  Richard,  I  never  heard  anything 
like  their — hungriness — when  they  are  getting  well." 

Beulah,  emerging  slowly  from  among  the  shad- 
ows, began  to  think  of  things  to  eat.  She  didn't 
care  about  anything  else.  She  didn't  care  for  Eric's 
love,  or  her  mother's  gladness,  or  Richard's  cheer- 
fulness, or  the  nurses'  sympathy.  She  cared  only 
to  think  of  every  kind  of  food  that  she  had  ever 
liked  in  her  whole  life,  and  to  ask  if  she  might 
have  it 

"  But,  dear  heart,  the  doctor  doesn't  think  that 
you  should,"  Eric  would  protest. 

She  would  cry,  weakly,  "  You  don't  love  me,  or 
you  would  let  me." 

She  begged  and  begged,  and  at  last  he  couldn't 
stand  it. 

"You  are  starving  her,"  he  told  the  nurses  fiercely. 

They  referred  him  to  the  doctor. 

Eric  telephoned  Richard. 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  was  the  response,  "  her  appe 
tite  is  a  sign  that  she  is  getting  well." 

338 


PEOPLE  OF  TWO  WORLDS 

"  But  she  is  so  hungry." 

"  So  are  they  all.  I  have  to  steel  my  heart  against 
them,  especially  the  children.  And  half  of  the  con- 
valescents are  reading  cook  books." 

"  Cook  books  1 " 

"  Yes.  In  that  way  they  get  a  meal  by  proxy.  I 
tell  them  to  pick  out  the  things  they  are  going  to 
have  when  they  are  well  enough  to  eat  all  they  want. 
Their  choice  ranges  from  Welsh  rarebits  to  plum 
puddings." 

He  laughed,  but  Eric  saw  nothing  funny  in  the 
matter.  "  I  can't  bear  to  see  her — suffer." 

Richard  was  sobered  at  once.  "  Don't  think  that 
I  am  not  sympathetic.  But — Brand,  I  don't  dare — 
feel.  If  I  did,  I  should  go  to  pieces." 

Slowly  the  weeks  passed.  Besides  Francois' 
mother,  two  of  Richard's  patients  died.  Slowly  the 
pendulum  of  time  swung  the  rest  of  the  sick  ones 
toward  recovery.  Nancy  and  Sulie  and  Milly 
changed  the  rooms  at  Crossroads  back  to  their  origi- 
nal uses.  The  nurses,  no  longer  needed,  packed 
their  competent  bags,  and  departed.  Beulah  at  the 
Playhouse  had  her  first  square  meal,  and  smiled  back 
at  Eric. 

The  strain  had  told  fearfully  on  Richard.  Yet  he 
persisted  in  his  efforts  long  after  it  seemed  that  the 
countryside  was  safe.  He  tried  to  pack  into  twelve 
short  weeks  what  he  would  normally  have  done  in 
twelve  long  months.  He  spurred  his  fellow  physi- 

339 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

cians  to  increased  activities,  he  urged  authorities  to 
unprecedented  exertions.  He  did  the  work  of  two 
men  and  sometimes  of  three.  And  he  was  so  ex- 
hausted that  he  felt  that  if  ever  his  work  was  finished 
he  would  sleep  for  a  million  years. 

It  was  in  September  that  he  began  to  wonder  how 
he  would  square  things  up  with  Eve.  At  first  she 
had  written  to  him  blaming  him  for  his  desertion. 
But  not  for  a  moment  did  she  take  it  seriously. 
"  You'll  be  coming  back,  Dicky,"  was  the  burden  of 
her  song.  He  wrote  hurried  pleasant  letters  which 
were  to  some  extent  bulletins  of  the  day's  work.  If 
Eve  was  not  satisfied  she  consoled  herself  with  the 
thought  that  he  was  tearingly  busy  and  terribly 
tired. 

In  her  last  letter  she  had  said,  "  Austin  doesn't 
know  what  to  do  without  you.  He  told  Pip  that  you 
were  his  right  hand." 

Austin  had  said  more  than  that  to  Anne.  He  had 
found  her  one  hot  day  by  the  fountain.  Nancy  had 
written  to  her  of  the  death  of  Frangois'  mother.  The 
letter  was  in  her  hand. 

Austin  had  also  had  a  letter.  "  Brooks  is  a  fool. 
He  writes  that  he  is  going  to  stay." 

Anne  shook  her  head.  "  He  is  not  a  fool,"  she 
said  ;  "  he  is  doing  what  he  had  to  do.  You  would 
know  if  you  had  ever  lived  at  Crossroads.  Why, 
the  Brooks  family  belongs  there,  and  the  Brooks 
doctors." 

340 


PEOPLE  OF  TWO  WORLDS 

"  So  you  have  encouraged  him  ?  "  Austin  said. 

"  I  have  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  I  haven't 
heard  from  him  since  he  left,  and  I  haven't  writ- 
ten." 

"  And  you  think  he  is — right  to — bury — himself?  " 

Anne  sat  very  still,  her  hands  folded  quietly.  Her 
calm  eyes  were  on  the  golden  fish  which  swam  in 
the  waters  at  the  base  of  the  fountain. 

"  I  am  not  sure,"  she  said ;  "  it  all  has  so  much 
to  do  with — old  traditions — and  inherited  feelings — 
and  ideals.  He  could  be  just  as  useful  here,  but  he 
would  never  be  happy.  You  can't  imagine  how  they 
look  up  to  him  down  there.  And  here  he  looked  up 
to  you." 

"  Then  you  think  I  didn't  give  him  a  free  hand  ?" 

"  No.  But  there  he  is  a  Brooks  of  Crossroads. 
And  it  isn't  because  he  wants  the  honor  of  it  that  he 
has  gone  back,  but  because  the  responsibility  rests 
upon  him  to  make  the  community  all  that  it  ought 
to  be.  And  he  can't  shirk  it." 

"  Eve  Chesley  says  that  he  is  tied  to  his  mother's 
apron  strings." 

"She  doesn't  understand.  I  do.  I  sometimes 
feel  that  way  about  the  Crossroads  school — as  if  I 
had  shirked  something  to  have — a  good  time." 

"  But  you  have  had  a  good  time." 

"  Yes,  you  have  all  been  wonderful  to  me,"  her 
smile  warmed  him,  "  but  you  won't  think  that  I  am 
ungrateful  when  I  say  that  there  was  something  in 

341 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

my  life  in  the  little  school  which  carried  me — higher 
—than  this." 

"  Higher  ?    What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  was  a  leader  down  there.  And  a  force.  The 
children  looked  to  me  for  something  that  I  could 
give  and  which  the  teacher  they  have  isn't  giving. 
She  just  teaches  books,  and  I  tried  to  teach  them 
something  of  life,  and  love  of  country,  and  love  of 
God." 

"  But  here  you  have  Marie- Louise,  and  you  know 
how  grateful  we  are  for  what  you  have  done  for  her." 

"  I  have  only  developed  what  was  in  her.  What 
a  flaming  little  genius  she  is  1 " 

"  With  a  poem  accepted  by  an  important  maga- 
zine, and  Fox  believing  that  she  can  write  more  of 
them." 

Anne  spoke  quietly :  "  And  now  I  am  really  not 
needed.  Marie-Louise  can  go  on  alone." 

He  stopped  her.  "We  want  you  to  stay — my 
wife  wants  you — Marie-Louise  can't  do  without  you. 
And  I  want  you  to  get  Brooks  back." 

She  looked  her  amazement.     "  Get  him  back?" 

"  He  will  come  if  you  ask  it.  I  am  not  blind. 
Eve  Chesley  is.  The  things  she  says  make  him 
stubborn.  But  you  could  call  him  back.  You  could 
call  to  life  anything  in  any  man  if  you  willed  it. 
You  are  inspirational — a  star  to  light  the  way." 

His  voice  was  shaken.  After  a  pause  he  went  on : 
"  Will  you  help  me  to  get  Brooks  back?  " 

342 


PEOPLE  OF  TWO  WORLDS 

She  shook  her  head.  "  I  shall  not  try.  He  is 
among  his  own  people.  He  has  found  his  place." 

Yet  now  that  Richard  was  gone,  Anne  found  her- 
self missing  him  more  than  she  dared  admit.  She 
was,  for  the  first  time,  aware  that  the  knowledge  that 
she  should  see  him  now  and  then  had  kept  her  from 
loneliness  which  might  otherwise  have  assailed  her. 
The  thought  that  she  might  meet  him  had  added 
zest  to  her  engagements.  His  week-ends  at  Rose 
Acres  had  been  the  goal  toward  which  her  thoughts 
had  raced. 

And  now  the  great  house  was  empty  because  of 
his  absence.  The  city  was  empty — because  he  had 
left  it — forever.  She  had  no  hope  that  he  would 
come  back.  Crossroads  had  claimed  him.  He  had, 
indeed,  come  into  his  own. 

When  the  rest  of  his  friends  spoke  of  him,  praised 
or  blamed,  she  was  silent.  Geoffrey  Fox,  who  came 
often,  complained,  "You  are  always  sitting  off  in  a 
corner  somewhere  with  your  work,  putting  in  a 
million  stitches,  when  I  want  you  to  talk." 

"You  can  talk  to  Marie-Louise.  She  is  your 
ardent  disciple.  She  burns  candles  at  your  altar." 

"  She  is  a  charming — child." 

"  She  is  more  than  that.  When  her  poem  was 
accepted  she  cried  over  the  letter.  She  thinks  that 
she  couldn't  have  done  it  except  for  your  help  and 
criticism." 

"  She  will  do  more  than  she  has  done." 
343 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

When  Marie-Louise  joined  them,  Anne  was  glad 
to  see  Geoffrey's  protective  manner,  as  if  he  wanted 
to  be  nice  to  the  child  who  had  cried. 

She  had  to  listen  to  much  criticism  of  Richard. 
When  Eve  and  the  Dutton-Ames  dined  one  night  in 
the  early  fall  at  Rose  Acres,  Richard's  quixotic 
action  formed  the  theme  of  their  discourse. 

Eve  was  very  frank.  "Somebody  ought  to  tie 
Dicky  down.  His  head  is  in  the  clouds." 

Marie- Louise  flashed :  "I  like  people  whose  heads 
are  in  the  clouds.  He  is  doing  a  wonderful  thing 
and  a  wise  thing — and  we  are  all  acting  as  if  it  were 
silly." 

Anne  wanted  to  hug  Marie-Louise,  and  with 
heightened  color  she  listened  to  Winifred's  defense. 

"  I  think  we  should  all  like  to  feel  that  we  are 
equal  to  it — to  give  up  money  and  fame — for  the 
thing  that — called." 

"  There  is  no  better  or  bigger  work  for  him  there 
than  here,"  Austin  proclaimed. 

*'  No,"  Winifred  agreed,  and  her  eyes  were  bright, 
"  but  it  is  because  he  is  giving  up  something  which 
the  rest  of  us  value  that  I  like  him.  Renunciation 
isn't  fashionable,  but  it  is  stimulating." 

"  The  usual  process  is  to  '  grab  and  git,' "  her 
husband  sustained  her.  "We  always  like  to  see 
some  one  who  isn't  bitten  by  the  modern  bacillus." 

After  dinner  Anne  left  them  and  made  her  way 
down  in  the  darkness  to  the  river.  The  evening 

344 


PEOPLE  OF  TWO  WORLDS 

boat  was  coming  up,  starred  with  lights,  its  big 
search-light  sweeping  the  shores.  When  it  passed 
the  darkness  seemed  deeper.  The  night  was  cool, 
and  Anne,  wrapped  in  a  white  cloak,  was  like  a 
ghost  among  the  shadows.  Far  up  on  the  terrace 
she  could  see  the  big  house,  and  hear  the  laughter. 
She  felt  much  alone.  Those  people  were  not  her 
people.  Her  people  were  of  Nancy's  kind,  well-born 
and  well  fbred,  but  not  smart  in  the  modern  sense. 
They  were  quiet  folk,  liking  their  homes,  their  friends, 
their  neighbors.  They  were  not  so  rich  that  they 
were  separated  by  their  money  from  those  about 
them.  They  had  time  to  read  and  to  think.  They 
were  perhaps  no  better  than  the  people  in  the  big 
house  on  top  of  the  terrace,  but  they  lived  at  a  more 
leisurely  pace,  and  it  seemed  to  her  at  this  moment 
that  they  got  more  out  of  life. 

She  wanted  more  than  anything  in  the  world  to 
be  to-night  with  that  little  group  at  Crossroads,  to 
meet  Cousin  Sulie's  sparkling  glance,  to  sit  at  Nancy's 
knee,  to  hear  Richard's  big  laugh,  as  he  came  in  and 
found  the  women  waiting  for  the  news  of  the  outside 
world  that  he  would  bring. 

She  knew  that  she  could  have  the  little  school  if 
she  asked  for  it.  But  a  sense  of  dignity  restrained 
her.  She  could  not  go  back  now.  It  would  seem 
to  the  world  that  she  had  followed  Richard.  Well, 
her  heart  followed  him,  but  the  world  did  not  know 
that. 

345 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

She  heard  voices.  Geoffrey  and  Marie-Louise 
were  at  the  river's  edge. 

"  It  is  as  if  there  were  just  the  two  of  us  in 
the  whole  wide  world,"  Marie-Louise  was  saying. 
"  That's  what  I  like  about  the  darkness.  It  seems  to 
shut  everybody  out." 

"  But  suppose  the  darkness  followed  you  into  the 
day,"  Geoffrey  said,  "suppose  that  for  you  there 
were  no  light?" 

A  rim  of  gold  showed  above  the  blackness  of  the 
Jersey  hills. 

"  Oh,"  Marie-Louise  exulted,  "  look  at  the  moon. 
In  a  moment  there  will  be  light,  and  you  thought 
you  were  in  the  dark." 

"You  mean  that  it  is  an  omen?" 

"  Yes." 

"  What  a  small  and  comfortable  person  you  are," 
Geoffrey  said,  and  now  Anne  could  see  the  two  of 
them  silhouetted  against  the  brightening  sky,  one 
tall  and  slim,  the  other  slim  and  short.  They  walked 
on,  and  she  heard  their  voices  faintly. 

"Do  I  really  make  you  comfortable,  Geoffrey 
Fox?" 

"  You  make  me  more  than  that,  Marie- Louise." 


346 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

In  Which  Richard  Rides  Alone. 

EVE." 
"  Yes,  Pip." 

"  Can't  you  see  that  if  he  cared  Richard  would  do 
the  thing  that  pleased  you — that  New  York  would 
be  Paradise  if  you  were  in  it  ?  " 

"  Why  shouldn't  Crossroads  be  Paradise  to  me — 
with  him?" 

"  It  couldn't  be." 

"  I  am  going  to  make  it.  I  talked  it  over  last 
night  with  Aunt  Maude.  She's  an  old  dear.  And  I 
shall  be  the  Lady  of  the  Manor.  If  Dicky  won't 
come  to  New  York,  I'll  bring  New  York  down  to 
him." 

"  It  can't  be  done.     And  it's  going  to  fail." 

"  What  is  going  to  fail  ?  " 

"  Your  marriage.  If  you  are  mad  enough  to 
marry  Brooks." 

She  mused.  "  Pip,  do  you  remember  the  fat 
Armenian  ?  " 

"  At  Coney  ?     Yes." 

"  He  said  that — I  had  reached  for  something  be- 
yond my  grasp.  That  my  fingers  would  touch  it, 
but  that  it  would  soar  always  above  me." 

347 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

"  Sounds  as  if  Brooks  were  some  fat  sort  of  a  bird. 
I  can't  think  of  him  as  soaring.  I  should  call  him 
the  cock  that  crowed  at  Crossroads.  Oh,  it's  all  rot, 
Eve,  this  idea  that  love  makes  things  equal.  I  went 
to  the  Hippodrome  not  long  ago  and  saw  '  Pinafore.' 
Our  fathers  and  mothers  raved  over  it.  But  that 
was  a  sentimental  age,  and  Gilbert  poked  fun  at 
them.  He  made  the  simple  sailor  a  captain  in  the 
end,  so  that  Josephine  shouldn't  wash  dishes  and 
cook  smelly  things  in  pots  and  hang  out  the  family 
wash.  But  your  hero  balks  and  won't  be  turned 
into  a  millionaire.  If  you  were  writing  a  book  you 
might  make  it  work  out  to  your  satisfaction,  but  you 
can't  twist  life  to  the  happy  ending." 

"  I  shall  try,  Pip." 

"  In  Heaven's  name,  Eve  !  It  is  sheer  obstinacy. 
If  everybody  wanted  you  to  marry  Brooks,  you'd 
want  to  marry  me.  But  because  Aunt  Maude  and 
Winifred  and  I,  and  a  lot  of  others  know  that  you 
shouldn't,  you  have  set  your  heart  on  it." 

She  flashed  her  eyes  at  him.  "  Is  it  obstinacy, 
Pip,  I  wonder?  Do  you  know  I  rather  think  I  am 
going  to  like  it." 

Her  letters  said  something  of  the  sort  to  Richard. 
"  I  shall  love  it  down  there.  But  you  must  let  me 
have  my  own  way  with  the  house  and  garden. 
Don't  you  think  I  shall  make  a  charming  chatelaine, 
Dicky,  dear?" 

He  had  a  sense  of  relief  in  her  unexpected  acqui- 
348 


RICHARD  RIDES  ALONE 

escence  in  his  decision.  If  she  had  objected,  he 
would  have  felt  as  if  he  had  turned  his  back  not 
only  on  the  work  that  he  hated  but  on  the  woman  he 
had  promised  to  marry.  It  would  have  looked  that 
way  to  others.  Yet  no  matter  how  it  had  looked,  he 
could  not  have  done  differently.  The  call  had  been 
insistent,  and  the  deeps  of  his  nature  been  stirred. 

He  was  thinking  of  it  all  as  one  morning  in  Octo- 
ber he  rode  to  the  Playhouse  on  big  Ben  to  see 
Beulah. 

Dismounting  at  the  gate,  he  followed  the  path 
which  led  to  the  kitchen.  Beulah  was  not  there, 
and,  searching,  he  saw  her  under  an  old  apple  tree 
at  the  end  of  the  garden.  She  wore  a  checked  blue 
apron,  stiffly  starched,  and  she  was  holding  it  up  by 
the  corners.  A  black  cat  and  three  sable  kittens 
frisked  at  her  feet. 

Some  one  was  dropping  red  apples  carefully  into 
the  apron,  some  one  who  laughed  as  he  swung  him- 
self down  and  tipped  Beulah's  chin  up  with  his  hand 
and  kissed  her.  Richard  felt  a  lump  in  his  throat. 
It  was  such  a  homely  litde  scene,  but  it  held  a  mean- 
ing that  love  had  never  held  for  himself  and  Eve. 

Eric  untied  Beulah's  apron  string,  and  carrying 
the  apples  in  this  improvised  bag,  with  his  arm 
about  her  waist  sustaining  her,  they  came  down  the 
walk. 

"  This  is  Beulah's  pet  tree.  When  she  was  sick 
she  asked  for  apples  and  apples  and  apples." 

349 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

Beulah,  sinking  her  little  white  teeth  into  a  red 
one,  nodded.  "  It  is  perfectly  wonderful,"  she  said 
when  she  was  able  to  speak,  "  how  good  everything 
tastes,  and  I  can't  get  enough." 

Eric  pinched  her  cheek.  "  Pretty  good  color,  doc- 
tor. We'll  have  them  matching  the  apples  yet." 

Richard  wanted  to  ask  Eric  about  the  dogs. 
"  Some  of  my  friends  are  coming  down  to-morrow 
for  the  Middlefield  hunt." 

"  If  they  start  old  Pete  there'll  be  some  sport," 
Eric  said. 

"  I  shall  be  half  sorry  if  they  do,"  Richard  told 
him.  "  I  am  always  afraid  I  shall  lose  him  out  of 
my  garden.  He  is  a  part  of  the  place,  like  the  box 
hedge  and  the  cedars." 

He  said  it  lightly,  but  he  meant  it  He  had  hunt- 
ing blood  in  his  veins,  and  he  loved  the  horses  and 
the  dogs.  He  loved  the  cold  crisp  air,  and  the  ex- 
citement of  the  chase.  But  what  he  did  not  love 
was  the  hunted  animal,  doubling  on  its  tracks,  pur- 
sued, panting,  torn  to  pieces  by  the  hounds. 

"  Old  Pete  deserved  to  live  and  die  among  the 
hills,"  Beulah  said.  "  Is  Miss  Chesley  coming  down  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  a  lot  of  others.  They  will  put  up  at 
the  club.  Mother  and  Sulie  aren't  up  to  entertain- 
ing a  crowd." 

He  wanted  Eric's  dogs  for  ducks.  Dutton-Ames 
and  one  or  two  others  did  not  ride  to  hounds,  and 
would  come  to  Bower's  in  the  morning. 

350 


RICHARD  RIDES  ALONE 

As  he  rode  away,  he  was  conscious  that  as  soon 
as  his  back  was  turned  Eric's  arm  would  again  be 
about  Beulah,  and  Beulah's  head  would  be  on  Eric's 
shoulder.  And  that  he  would  lift  her  over  the  thresh- 
old as  they  went  in. 

That  afternoon  Richard  motored  over  to  the  Coun- 
try Club  to  welcome  Eve.  She  laughed  at  his  little 
car.  "  I'd  rather  see  you  on  big  Ben  than  in  that." 

"  Ben  can't  carry  me  fast  enough." 

"  Don't  expect  me  to  ride  in  it,  Dicky." 

"Why  not?" 

"Oh,  Dicky,  can  you  ask?" 

Meade's  great  limousine  which  had  brought  them 
seemed  to  stare  the  little  car  out  of  countenance. 
But  Richard  refused  to  be  embarrassed  by  the  con- 
trast. "  She's  a  snug  little  craft,  and  she  has  carried 
me  miles.  What  would  Meade's  car  do  on  these 
roads  and  in  the  hills  ?  " 

Pip  had  come  up  and  as  the  two  men  stood  to- 
gether Eve's  quick  eye  contrasted  them.  There  was 
no  doubt  of  Richard's  shabbiness.  His  old  riding 
coat  was  much  the  worse  for  wear.  He  had  on  the 
wrong  kind  of  hat  and  the  wrong  kind  of  shoes, 
and  he  seemed  most  aggravatingly  not  to  care. 
He  was  to  ride  to-morrow  one  of  the  horses  which 
had  been  sent  down  from  Pip's  stables.  He  hadn't 
even  a  proper  mount ! 

Pip,  on  the'  other  hand,  was  perfectly  groomed. 
He  was  shining  and  immaculate  from  the  top  of  his 

35i 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

smooth  head  to  the  heel  of  his  boots.  And  he  wore 
an  air  of  gay  inconsequence.  It  seemed  to  Eve 
that  Richard's  shoulders  positively  sagged  with  re- 
sponsibility. 

There  was  a  dance  at  the  club  that  night.  Rich- 
ard, coming  in,  saw  Eve  in  Pip's  arms.  They  were 
a  graceful  pair,  and  their  steps  matched  perfectly. 
Eve  was  all  in  white,  wide-skirted,  and  her  shoulders 
and  arms  were  bare.  She  had  on  gold  slippers,  and 
her  hair  was  gold.  Richard  had  a  sense  of  discom- 
fort as  he  watched  them.  He  was  going  to  marry 
her,  yet  she  was  letting  Pip  look  at  her  like  that. 
His  cheeks  burned.  What  was  Pip  saying  ?  Was 
he  making  love  to  Eve  ? 

He  had  tried  to  meet  the  situation  with  dignity. 
Yet  there  was  no  dignity  in  Eve's  willingness  to  let 
Pip  follow  her.  To  speak  of  it  would,  however,  seem 
to  crystallize  his  feeling  into  a  complaint. 

Hence  when  he  danced  with  her  later,  he  tried  to 
respond  to  the  lightness  and  brightness  of  her  mood. 
He  tried  to  measure  up  to  all  the  requirements  of 
his  position  as  an  engaged  man  and  as  a  lover. 
But  he  did  not  find  it  easy. 

When  he  reached  home  that  night,  he  found  little 
Francois  awake,  and  ready  to  ask  questions  about 
the  hunt. 

"  Do  you  think  they  will  get  him  ?  "  he  challenged 
Richard,  coming  in  small  pink  pajamas  to  the  door 
of  the  young  doctor's  room. 

352 


RICHARD  RIDES  ALONE 

"Get  who?" 

"  Old  Pete." 

"  He  is  too  cunning." 

"  Will  he  come  through  here  ?  " 

"  Perhaps." 

"  I  shall  stick  my  fingers  in  my  ears  and  shut  my 
eyes.  Are  you  going  to  ride  with  them  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  You  won't  let  them  kill  old  Pete,  will  you  ?  " 

"  Not  if  I  can  help  it." 

After  that,  the  child  was  more  content.  But  when 
Richard  was  at  last  in  bed,  Francois  came  again 
across  the  hall,  and  stood  on  the  threshold  in  the 
moonlight.  "  It  would  be  dreadful  if  it  was  his  last 
night." 

"Whose  last  night,  Francois?"  sleepily. 

"  Old  Pete's." 

"  Don't  worry.  And  you  must  go  to  bed,  Fran- 
gois." 

Richard  waked  to  a  glorious  morning  and  to  the 
hunt.  Pink  coats  dotted  the  countryside.  It  seemed 
as  if  half  the  world  was  on  its  way  to  the  club. 
Richard,  as  he  mounted  one  of  Pip's  hunters,  a 
powerful  bay,  felt  the  thrill  of  it  all,  and  when  he 
joined  Eve  and  her  party  he  found  them  in  an  up- 
roarious mood. 

Presently  over  hills  streamed  a  picturesque  pro- 
cession— the  hounds  in  the  lead,  the  horses  following 
with  riders  whose  pink  blazed  against  the  green  of 

353 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

the  pines,  against  the  blue  of  the  river,  against  the 
fainter  blue  of  the  skies  above. 

And  oh,  the  music  of  it,  the  sound  of  the  horn, 
the  bell-like  baying,  the  thud  of  flying  feet ! 

Then,  ahead  of  them  all,  as  the  hounds  broke  into 
full  cry,  a  silent,  swift  shadow — the  old  fox,  Pete  1 

At  first  he  ran  easily.  He  had  done  it  so  often. 
He  had  thrown  them  off  after  a  chase  which  had 
stirred  his  blood.  He  would  throw  them  off  again. 

In  leisurely  fashion  he  led  them.  As  the  morning 
advanced,  however,  he  found  himself  hard  pushed. 
He  was  driven  from  one  stronghold  to  another. 
Tireless,  the  hounds  followed  and  followed,  until  at 
last  he  knew  himself  weary,  seeking  sanctuary. 

He  came  with  confidence  to  Crossroads.  Beyond 
the  garden  was  his  den.  Once  within  and  the  thing 
would  end. 

Across  the  lawn  he  loped,  and  little  Frangois,  anx- 
ious at  the  window,  spied  him.  "  Will  he  get  to  it, 
will  he  get  to  it?"  he  said  to  Nancy,  his  small  face 
white  with  the  fear  of  what  might  happen,  "and 
when  he  gets  there  will  he  be  safe  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  assured  him ;  "  and  when  they  have 
run  him  aground,  they  will  ride  away." 

But  they  did  not  ride  away.  It  happened  that 
those  who  were  in  the  lead  were  unaware  of  the  tra- 
dition of  the  country,  and  so  they  began  to  dig  him 
out,  this  old  king  of  foxes,  who  had  felt  himself  se- 
cure in  his  castle ! 

354 


RICHARD  RIDES  ALONE 

They  set  the  dogs  at  one  end,  and  fetched  mattocks 
and  spades  from  the  stable. 

Pip  and  Eve  were  among  them.  Pip  directing, 
Eve  mad  with  the  excitement  of  it  all. 

Little  Frangois,  watching,  clung  to  Nancy.  "  Oh, 
they  can't,  they  mustn't !  " 

She  soothed  him,  and  at  last  sent  Milly  out,  but 
they  would  not  listen. 

Nancy  and  Sulie  were  as  white  now  as  little  Fran- 
gois. "  Oh,  where  is  Richard  ? "  Nancy  said.  "  It 
is  like  murder  to  do  a  thing  like  that.  It  is  bad 
enough  in  the  open — but  like  a  rat — in  a  trap." 

The  big  bay  was  charging  down  the  hill  with 
Richard  yelling  at  the  top  of  his  voice.  The  bay 
had  proved  troublesome  and  had  bolted  in  the 
wrong  direction,  but  Richard  had  brought  him  back 
to  Crossroads  just  in  time ! 

Frangois  screamed.  "It  is  Dr.  Dicky.  He'll 
make  them  stop.  He'll  make  them." 

He  did  make  them.  His  voice  rang  sharply. 
"  Get  the  dogs  away,  Meade,  and  stop  digging." 

They  were  too  eager  at  first  to  heed  him.  Eve 
hung  on  his  arm,  but  he  shook  her  off.  "  We  don't 
like  things  like  that  down  here.  Our  foxes  are  too 
rare." 

It  was  a  motley  group  which  gathered  later  at  the 
club  for  the  hunt  breakfast.  There  were  fox-hunting 
farmers  born  on  the  land,  of  sturdy  yeoman  stock, 
and  careless  of  form.  There  were  the  lords  of  newly 

355 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

acquired  acres,  who  rode  carefully  on  little  saddles 
with  short  stirrups  in  the  English  style. 

There  were  the  descendants  of  the  great  old  plant- 
ers, daring,  immensely  picturesque.  There  was 
Eve's  crowd,  trained  for  the  sport,  and  at  their  ease. 

A  big  fire  burned  on  the  hearth.  A  copper-cov- 
ered table  held  steaming  dishes.  Another  table 
groaned  under  its  load  of  cold  meats  and  cheese. 
On  an  ancient  mahogany  sideboard  were  various 
bottles  and  bowls  of  punch. 

Old  songs  were  sung  and  old  stories  told.  Brins- 
ley  beamed  on  everybody  with  his  face  like  a  round 
full  moon.  There  were  other  round  and  red-faced 
gentlemen  who,  warmed  by  the  fire  and  the  punch, 
twinkled  like  unsteady  old  stars. 

Eve  was  the  pivotal  center  of  all  the  hilarity.  She 
sat  on  the  table  and  served  the  punch.  Her  coat 
was  off,  and  in  her  silk  blouse  and  riding  breeches 
she  was  like  a  lovely  boy.  The  men  crowded  around 
her.  Pip,  always  at  her  elbow,  delivered  an  admiring 
opinion.  "  No  one  can  hold  a  candle  to  you,  Eve." 

Richard  was  out  of  it.  He  sat  quietly  in  a  corner 
with  David,  old  Jo  at  their  feet,  and  watched  the 
others.  Eve  had  been  angry  with  him  for  his  inter- 
ference at  Crossroads.  "  I  didn't  know  you  were  a 
molly-coddle,  Dicky,"  she  had  said,  "  and  I  wanted 
the  brush." 

She  was  punishing  him  now  by  paying  absolutely 
no  attention  to  him.  She  was  punishing  him,  too, 

356 


RICHARD  RIDES  ALONE 

by  making  herself  conspicuous,  which  she  knew  he 
hated.  The  scene  was  not  to  his  liking.  The 
women  of  his  household,  Nancy,  Sulie  and  Anne, 
had  had  a  fastidious  sense  of  what  belonged  to  them 
as  ladies.  Eve  had  not  that  sense.  As  he  sat  there, 
it  occurred  to  him  that  things  were  moving  to  some 
stupendous  climax.  He  and  Eve  couldn't  go  on 
like  this. 

Far  up  in  the  hills  a  man  was  in  danger  of  bleed- 
ing to  death.  He  had  cut  himself  while  butchering 
a  pig.  The  doctor  was  called. 

Richard,  making  his  way  through  the  shouting 
and  singing  crowd  which  surrounded  Eve,  told  her, 
"  I  shall  have  to  go  for  a  little  while.  There's  a  man 
hurt.  I'll  be  back  in  an  hour." 

She  looked  down  at  him  with  hard  eyes.  "  We 
are  going  to  ride  cross-country — to  the  Ridge.  You 
might  meet  us  there,  if  you  care  to  come." 

"  You  know  I  care." 

"I'm  not  sure.  You  don't  show  it.  I — I  am  tired 
of  never  having  a  lover — Dicky." 

It  was  a  wonderful  afternoon.  The  heavy  frost 
had  chilled  the  air,  the  leaves  were  red,  and  the  sky 
was  blue — and  there  was  green  and  brown  and  gold. 
But  Richard  as  he  rode  up  in  the  hills  had  no  eyes 
for  the  color,  no  ears  for  the  song  beaten  out  by  big 
Ben's  hoofs.  The  vision  which  held  him  was  of  Eve 
in  the  midst  of  that  shouting  circle. 

357 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

The  man  who  had  cut  himself  was  black.  He  was 
thin  and  tall  and  his  hair  was  gray.  He  had  worked 
hard  all  of  his  life,  but  he  had  never  worked  out  of 
himself  the  spirit  of  joyous  optimism. 

"  I  jes'  tole  'um,"  he  said,  "to  send  for  Dr.  Brooks, 
and  he'd  beat  the  devil  gettin'  to  me." 

When  Richard  reached  the  Ridge,  a  flash  of  scarlet 
at  once  caught  his  eye.  On  the  slope  below  Eve, 
far  ahead  of  Meade,  in  a  mad  race,  was  making  for 
a  grove  at  the  edge  of  the  Crossroads  boundaries. 
She  was  a  reckless  rider,  and  Richard  held  his  breath 
as  she  took  fences,  leaped  hurdles,  and  cleared  the 
flat  wide  stream. 

As  she  came  to  the  grove  she  turned  and  waved 
triumphantly  to  Pip.  For  a  moment  she  made  a 
vivid  and  brilliant  figure  in  her  scarlet  against  the 
green.  Then  the  little  wood  swallowed  her  up. 

Pip  came  pounding  after,  and  Richard,  spurring 
his  big  Ben  to  unaccustomed  efforts,  circled  the  grove 
to  meet  them  on  the  other  side. 

But  they  did  not  come.  From  the  point  where  he 
finally  drew  up  he  could  command  a  view  of  both 
sides  of  the  slope.  Unless  they  had  turned  back, 
they  were  still  in  the  grove. 

Then  out  of  the  woods  came  Pip,  running.  He 
had  something  in  his  arms. 

"It  is  Eve,"  he  said,  panting  ;  "  there  was  a  hole 
and  her  horse  stumbled.  I  found  her." 

Poor  honest  Pip  1  As  if  she  were  his  own,  he 
358 


RICHARD  RIDES  ALONE 

held  her  now  in  his  arms.  Her  golden  head,  swung 
up  to  his  shoulder,  rested  heavily  above  his  heart. 
Her  eyes  were  shut. 

Richard's  practiced  eye  saw  at  once  her  state  of 
collapse.  He  jumped  from  his  horse.  "  Give  her  to 
me,  Meade,"  he  said,  "  and  get  somebody's  car  as 
quickly  as  you  can." 

And  now  the  tiger  in  Pip  flashed  out.  "She's 
mine,"  he  said,  breathing  hoarsely.  "  I  love  her. 
You  go  and  get  the  car." 

"  Man,"  the  young  doctor  said  steadily,  "  this  isn't 
the  time  to  quarrel.  Lay  her  down,  then,  and  let 
me  have  a  look  at  her." 

He  had  his  little  case  of  medicines,  and  he  hunted 
for  something  to  bring  her  back  to  consciousness. 
Pip,  pale  and  shaken,  folded  his  coat  under  her 
head  and  chafed  her  hands. 

Presently  life  seemed  to  sweep  through  her  body. 
She  shivered  and  moved. 

Her  eyes  came  open.     "  What  happened  ?  " 

"  You  fell  from  your  horse.     Meade  found  you." 

There  were  no  bones  broken,  but  the  shock  had 
been  great.  She  lay  very  still  and  white  against 
Pip's  arm. 

Richard  closed  his  medicine  case  and  rose.  He 
stood  looking  down  at  her. 

"  Better,  old  lady  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Dicky." 

He  spoke  a  little  awkwardly.  "  I'll  ride  down,  if 
359 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

you  don't  mind,  and  come  back  for  you  in  M cade's 
car."     His  eyes  did  not  meet  hers. 

As  he  plunged  over  the  hill  on  his  heavy  old  horse, 
her  puzzled  gaze  followed  him.  Then  she  gave  a 
queer  little  laugh.  "  Is  he  running  away  from  me, 
Pip?" 

"  I  told  him  you  were — mine,"  the  big  man  burst 
out. 

"  You  told  him  ?     Oh,  Pip,  what  did  he  say  ?  " 
11  That  this  was  not  the  time  to  talk  about  it." 
She    lay    very   still   thinking   it   out.     Then   she 
turned  on  his  arm.     "  Good  old  Pip,"  she  said.     He 
drew  her  up  to  him,  and  she  said  it  again,  with  that 
queer  little  laugh,  "  Good  old  Pip,  you're  the  best 
ever.     And  all  this  time  I  have  been  looking  straight 
over  your  blessed  old  head  at — Dicky." 


360 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
In  Which  St.  Michael  Finds  Love  in  a  Garden. 


flowers  in  Marie-Louise's  bowl  were  lilacs. 
JL  And  Marie-Louise,  sitting  up  in  bed,  writing 
verses,  was  in  pale  mauve.  Her  windows  were  wide 
open,  and  the  air  from  the  river,  laden  with  fra- 
grance, swept  through  the  room. 

The  big  house  had  been  closed  all  winter.  Austin 
had  elected  to  spend  the  season  in  Florida,  and  had 
taken  all  of  his  household  with  him,  including  Anne. 
He  had  definitely  retired  from  practice  when  Richard 
left  him.  "I  can't  carry  it  on  alone,  and  I  don't 
want  to  break  in  anybody  else,"  he  had  said,  and 
had  turned  the  whole  thing  over  to  one  of  his  col- 
leagues. 

But  April  had  brought  him  back  to  "  Rose  Acres  " 
in  time  for  the  lilacs,  and  Marie-Louise,  uplifted  by 
the  fact  that  Geoffrey  Fox  was  at  that  very  moment 
finishing  his  book  in  the  balcony  room,  had  decided 
that  lilacs  in  the  silver  bowl  should  express  the  ec- 
static state  of  her  mind. 

Anne,  coming  in  at  noon,  asked,  "  What  are  you 
writing  ?  " 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

"  Vers  libre.  This  is  called,  '  To  Dr.  Dicky,  Din- 
ing.'" 

"  What  a  subject,  and  you  call  it  poetry  ?  " 

"Why  not?  Isn't  he  coming  to  dinner  for  the 
first  time  since — he  left  New  York,  and  since  he 
broke  off  with  Eve,  and  since — a  lot  of  other  things 
— and  isn't  it  an  important  occasion,  Mistress  Anne  ?  " 

Anne  ignored  the  question.  "  What  have  you 
written  ?  " 

"Only  the  outline.  He  comes — has  caviar,  and 
his  eyes  are  on  the  queen.  He  drinks  his  soup — 
and  dreams.  He  has  fish — and  a  vision  of  the  fu- 
ture ;  rhapsodies  with  the  roast,"  she  twinkled  ;  "  do 
you  like  it?" 

"  As  far  as  it  goes." 

"  It  goes  very  far,  and  you  know  it.  And  you  are 
blushing." 

"  I  am  not." 

"  You  are.  Look  in  the  glass.  Mistress  Anne, 
aren't  you  glad  that  Eve  is  married?" 

"  Yes,"  honestly,  "  and  that  she  is  happy," 

"Pip  was  made  for  her.  I  loved  him  at  Palm 
Beach,  adoring  her,  didn't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes."  Anne's  mind  went  back  to  it.  The  mar- 
riage had  followed  immediately  upon  the  announce- 
ment of  the  broken  engagement.  People  had  pitied 
poor  young  Dr.  Brooks.  But  Anne  had  not.  One 
does  not  pity  a  man  who,  having  been  bound,  is 
free. 

362 


LOVE  IN  A  GARDEN 

He  had  written  to  her  a  half  dozen  times  during 
the  winter,  friendly  letters  with  news  of  Crossroads, 
and  now  that  she  was  again  at  Rose  Acres,  he  was 
coming  up. 

The  spring  day  was  bright.  Rich  with  possibili- 
ties. "  Marie- Louise,  don't  stay  in  bed.  Nobody 
has  a  right  to  be  in  the  house  on  such  a  day  as 
this." 

But  Marie-Louise  wouldn't  be  moved.  "  I  want 
to  finish  my  verses." 

So  Anne  went  out  alone  into  the  garden.  It  was 
ablaze  with  spring  bloom,  the  river  was  blue,  and 
Pan  piped  on  his  reeds.  Geoffrey  waved  to  her 
from  his  balcony.  She  waved  back,  then  went  for  a 
walk  alone.  She  returned  to  have  tea  on  the  ter- 
race. The  day  seemed  interminable.  The  hour  for 
dinner  astonishingly  remote. 

At  last,  however,  it  was  time  to  dress.  The  gown 
that  she  chose  was  of  pale  rose,  heavily  weighted 
with  silver.  It  hung  straight  and  slim.  Her  slip- 
pers were  of  silver,  and  she  still  wore  her  dark  hair 
in  the  smooth  swept-up  fashion  which  so  well  be- 
came her. 

Richard,  seeing  her  approach  down  the  length  of 
the  big  drawing-room  where  he  stood  with  Austin, 
was  conscious  of  a  sense  of  shock.  It  was  as  if  he 
had  expected  that  she  would  come  to  him  in  her  old 
blue  serge,  or  in  the  little  white  gown  with  the  many 
ruffles.  That  she  came  in  such  elegance  made  her 

363 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

seem — alien.  Like  Eve.  Oh,  where  was  the  Anne 
of  yesterday  ? 

Even  when  she  spoke  to  him,  when  her  hand  was 
in  his,  when  she  walked  beside  him  on  the  way  to 
the  dining-room,  he  had  this  sense  of  strangeness, 
as  if  the  girl  in  rose-color  was  not  the  girl  of  whom 
he  had  dreamed  through  all  the  days  since  he  had 
known  that  he  was  not  to  marry  Eve. 

The  winter  had  been  a  busy  one  for  him,  but  sat- 
isfying in  the  sense  that  he  was  at  last  in  his  right- 
ful place.  He  had  come  into  his  own.  He  had  no 
more  doubts  that  his  work  was  wisely  chosen.  But 
his  life  was  as  yet  unfinished.  To  complete  it,  he 
had  felt  that  he  must  round  out  his  days  with  the 
woman  he  loved. 

But  now  that  he  was  here,  he  saw  her  fitted  to  her 
new  surroundings  as  a  jewel  fitted  to  a  golden  set- 
ting. And  she  liked  lovely  things,  she  liked  excite- 
ment, and  the  nearness  of  the  great  metropolis. 
There  were  men  who  had  wanted  to  marry  her. 
Marie-Louise  had  told  him  that  in  a  gay  little  letter 
which  she  had  sent  from  the  South. 

As  he  reviewed  it  now  disconsolately,  he  reminded 
himself  that  he  had  never  had  any  real  reason  to 
know  that  Anne  cared  for  him.  There  had  been  a 
flash  of  the  eye,  a  few  grave  words,  a  break  in  her 
voice,  his  answered  letters ;  but  a  woman  might  dole 
out  these  small  favors  to  a  friend. 

Thus  from  caviar  to  soup,  and  from  soup  to  roast, 
364 


LOVE  IN  A  GARDEN 

he  contradicted  Marie-Louise's  conception  oi  his 
state  of  mind.  Fear  and  doubt,  discouragement,  a 
touch  of  despair,  these  carried  him  as  far  as  the  salad. 

And  then  he  heard  Austin's  voice  speaking.  "  So 
you  are  really  contented  at  Crossroads,  Brooks  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  wish  you  would  come  down  and  let  me 
show  you  some  of  the  things  I  am  doing.  A  bit 
primitive,  perhaps,  in  the  light  of  your  larger  ex- 
perience. But  none  the  less  effective,  and  inter- 
esting." 

Austin  shrugged.  "  I  can't  imagine  anything  but 
martyrdom  in  such  a  life — for  me.  What  do  you 
do  with  yourself  when  you  are  not  working — With 
no  theaters — opera — restaurants — excitements  ?  " 

"  We  get  along  rather  well  without  them — except 
for  an  occasional  trip  to  town." 

"  But  you  need  such  things,"  dogmatically  ;  "  a 
man  can't  live  out  of  the  world  and  not — degen- 
erate." 

"He  may  live  in  it,  and  degenerate."  Anne  was 
speaking.  Her  cheeks  were  as  pink  as  her  gown. 
She  leaned  a  little  forward.  "  You  don't  know  all 
that  they  have  at  Crossroads,  and  Dr.  Brooks  is  too 
polite  to  tell  you  how  poor  New  York  seems  to  those 
of  us  who — know." 

"Poor?"  Richard  had  turned  to  her,  his  face 
illumined. 

"  Isn't  it  ?  Think  of  the  things  you  have  that 
New  York  dcfesn't  know  of.  A  singing  river — this 

365 


MISTRESS  ANNE 

river  doesn't  sing,  or  if  it  does  nobody  would  have 
time  to  listen.  And  Crossroads  has  a  bell  on  its 
school  that  calls  to  the  countryside.  City  children 
are  not  called  by  a  bell — that's  why  they  are  all 
alike — they  ride  on  trolleys  and  watch  the  clocks. 
My  little  pupils  ran  across  the  fields  and  down  the 
road,  and  hurried  when  I  rang  for  them,  and  came 
in — rosy." 

She  was  rosy  herself  as  she  recounted  it. 

"  Oh,  we  have  a  lot  of  things — the  bridge  with  the 
lights — and  the  road  up  to  the  Ridge — and  Diogenes,, 
Dr.  Austin,  you  should  see  Diogenes." 

She  laughed,  and  they  all  laughed  with  her,  but 
back  of  Richard's  laugh  there  was  an  emotion  which 
swept  him  on  and  up  to  heights  beyond  anything 
that  he  had  ever  hoped  or  dreamed. 

After  that,  he  could  hardly  wait  for  the  ending  of 
the  dinner,  hardly  wait  to  get  away  from  them  all, 
and  out  under  the  stars. 

It  was  when  they  were  at  last  alone  on  the  steps 
above  the  fountain,  with  the  garden  pouring  all  of 
its  fragrance  down  upon  them,  that  he  said,  "  I 
should  not  have  dared  ask  it  if  you  had  not  said 
what  you  said." 

"Oh,  St.  Michael,  St.  Michael,"  she  whispered, 
"  where  was  your  courage  ?  " 

"  But  in  this  gown,  this  lovely  gown,  you  didn't 
look  like  anything  that  I  could — have.  I  am  only  a 
country  doctor,  Anne." 

366 


LOVE  IN  A  GARDEN 

"  Only  my  beloved — Richard." 

They  clung  together,  these  two  who  had  found 
Love  in  the  garden.  But  they  had  found  more  than 
Love.  They  had  found  the  meaning  for  all  that 
Richard  had  done,  and  for  all  that  Anne  would  do. 
And  that  which  they  had  found  they  would  never 
give  up  1 


30? 


University  of  California 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000112607     7 


